Flushed Away: Another Change of Scene
by Firefall Bangenthump
Summary: A continuation of A Change of Scene. Rita brings Roddy to the tiny Principality of Monaco to meet an old family friend, but the couple find themselves caught up in the action as a conspiracy centuries in the making breaks around them. Now completed.
1. Nice East Central

The characters and story of _Flushed Away_ are entirely the work of those miraculous boffins at Aardman and DreamWorks Studios. May they smile benevolently and not-too-patronisingly on my pilfering of their wonderful creations! This began life as a continuance of _Flushed Away: A Change of Scene_ but evolved into a story so different as to deserve its own posting. My heartfelt gratitude to the kind reviewers of that first effort at a _Flushed Away_ piece- I would not have written this without them.

* * *

_One day, a long time ago, Francois Grimaldi and a band of followers dressed themselves as monks and tricked their way into the inner sanctum of what was then a small Genoese colony on the Mediterranean. Casting their Franciscan cloaks aside, Grimaldi and his men attacked the surprised inhabitants with their concealed swords, capturing the citadel almost unopposed. It was a nasty trick, but Europe in 1297 was a nasty place and Grimaldi knew better than most that history was written by those who survived it. _

_Thus began the events which saw an inconsequential northern Italian colony become the Independent Principality of Monaco. For this action, Francois Grimaldi earned himself the title of '_malitzia_', which translates as "The Cunning" or "The Malicious", depending on whose side you take._

_Of course, Francois Grimaldi was not the only one there. He, his men and their victims were not alone. Rodent eyes watched the treachery from the drains and the shadows, and some shrugged because life went on just the same whatever the humans did. But others remembered, and they told their children what had happened in the citadel, and they told their children, and they theirs. Contrary to popular imagination, rats have very good memories. And they know how to hold a grudge. A small band of rats retreated across the sea to Genoa, and there they told their stories and waited for the opportunity to reclaim the Principality for its rightful owners…_

* * *

The clash of steel on steel echoed up and down the Nice East Central Sewer as the _Jammy Dodger II _motored along it. Roddy St. James struck out with his sabre again, and again it was parried aside by his opponent, who then launched a counter-attack with snakebite speed. He retreated, defending himself as best as he could, but to no avail. The sabre was knocked out of his hands and he was forced to duck hurriedly in order to avoid losing his head. His attacker loomed over him and brought their own weapon down to deliver the coup de grace.

Rita Malone pulled her punch at the last second, and the hatpin she had been wielding halted half an inch from Roddy's neck. Not for the first time, Roddy wondered whether it was a good idea asking her to be his sparring partner. Since acquiring the Royal Navy dress sabre that had once belonged to August St. James, a distant relative, he had wanted to learn how to use it. Swordsmanship, he felt instinctively, was something a gentleman should know and Roddy would still have used the word to describe himself despite his voluntary change of lifestyle. Rita, on the other hand, was no gentleman, and that was true not just in the obvious sense but in the metaphorical one. She was a dyed-in-the-wool street fighter and was willing to use anything which presented itself as a possible weapon. It had been with great difficulty that Roddy had persuaded her to limit herself only to the hatpin- early 'lessons' had involved the use of various implements ranging from a ball bearing up to and including a spare drive chain from the boat's engine. Rita's knowledge of swordsmanship extended about as far as knowing which end of the weapon was meant to go into your hand and which end, therefore, went into the enemy, but treated any rule more intricate as more akin to a guideline. She was, in short, enough to make the Marquess of Queensberry hang up his gloves and turn to growing basil. Roddy grinned up at her hopefully.

"I dub thee," said Rita regally, winking and tapping Roddy lightly on both shoulders with her makeshift sword, "Sir Roderick St. James of Loserdom."

"Go easy!" protested Roddy. "I nearly beat you yesterday."

"Yesterday you tried to catch me unawares while I was putting my boots on," said Rita. "That doesn't count. And remember, I still beat you anyway."

"Yes, but not exactly fairly." Roddy went to recover his sabre. "I'm sure there's something in the rules about kicking your opponent. Certainly kicking him _there_, anyway." He nodded meaningfully.

"Hey, come off it! You were wearing a bottlecap there, remember? It isn't as if you didn't anticipate it." Rita sat down and pointed to the marked dent in her toecaps.

Roddy winced. "That didn't make it pleasant, exactly. And that's what you get for being so predictably underhanded."

Rita stood up and patted his cheek lightly.

"Forget about where my hands are. I could beat you with my tail. Now are we done?"

"We are," Roddy swept his blade up to the salute, nearly removing her nose in the process. "Whoops! Sorry about that."

"I'll make you caulk the decks again if you're not careful," warned Rita, only half-serious.

"If I'm _really_ careless you won't be able to make me do anything ever again," said Roddy, sheathing the sabre. "And wouldn't that be a crying shame?"

"Oh, come on," objected Rita. "At least I make your life interesting."  
"You make it a lot more than that," smiled Roddy. She smiled too. It had been more than a month since Paris and the Hotel d'Invalides, and though their relationship was still notable for what wasn't said rather than what was, at least neither held any doubts about what the other felt. Rita put her hatpin back in its bracket against the funnel and went up to the cockpit as Roddy went below to hang up August's sabre.

"Remind me again why we left Nice?" he said. "I liked it there."

"You thought Nice was nice?" said Rita, making the obvious joke.

"If I had a penny for every time you've made that joke," Roddy said, emerging from below decks. "I'd have…four pennies."

"So what?" Rita made a minor course correction.

"Well, you thought it too. I can tell these things, you know. And now we're going to where, Morocco? Is that the place with the cars?"

"We're going to Monaco, Roddy, and I have no idea," said Rita. "I know it's the place with Jasper, though, which is why we're going there."

"Jasper being...?"

Rita sighed. "If I had a penny for every time I've had to tell you this, I'd have…three pennies."

"Well, I'd still be making a profit," said Roddy.

"Jasper, as you should know by now but clearly don't on account of being irreconcilably slow and as thick as a…a…" She hesitated, trying to find a suitable metaphor.

"Triple-layer brick sandwich?" suggested Roddy, helpfully.

"Yes. Jasper used to work with my father. He built half of the first _Jammy Dodger_ before striking it rich and going off to Monaco. He gave us the tip-off about the ruby."

"The fake ruby?"

"You like to remind me about that, don't you? Yes, Roddy, the fake ruby." She smiled wryly at him. "And since the boat he helped build is currently at the bottom of the Hyde Park Purification Plant, I thought it would be nice to show him its successor. As well as the goon who sank the last one."

"But Le Frog isn't here, is he?" Roddy feigned ignorance and began peering around. Rita poked him in the side.

"I was referring to you, Roddy," she pointed out.

"Oh, were you really? I'm sorry; the subtlety of the reference was lost on me totally. Maybe you should dial the dial the humour up to 'atom bomb' rather than the default 'sledgehammer'." Roddy poked her back. She laughed and tried to dodge, leading to the boat scraping along the tunnel wall with a sound which brought both of them down to earth.

"Maybe we shouldn't do that if we're going to show him the boat," said Roddy, after a while. "What kind of chap is this Jasper? If he struck it rich and abandoned you he doesn't sound like much of a friend."

Rita shook her head. "That's just Jasper. He was always his own rat. Sure, he was like part of the family for a while- he used to play with me when I was young- but we knew he came and went as he pleased."

"Sounds like something of an opportunist," opined Roddy.

"You could say that, but without the implied insult." Rita scanned the tunnel ahead, her eyes softening as she was mugged in Memory Lane. "He was just…like that. Amazing mind. But it was never in the same place as his body and that's just how he was. He wouldn't have thought he was abandoning us. He was just a nice old coot. Madder than a haddock. You'll like him."

Roddy thought for a moment. "Are haddock…particularly mad?" he asked.

"Not," said Rita. "In comparison to what I'm about to be if you don't stop pretending to be an idiot."

"But I am an idiot," grinned Roddy. "Most of the time I'm pretending to be a suave, sophisticated rat-of-the-world with charm to spare." He took the wheel from Rita as she went to the forward locker. She cast him a doubtful look.

"Suave and sophisticated, I don't think so. But you have something which might pass for charm, in a certain light."

"I'm glad you agree," Roddy said. "And there was me worried that you didn't like me."

"What makes you think I like you now?" Rita closed the locked and rejoined him, flicking his ear playfully.

"Oh, you know. Just the occasional hint. Which are about as subtle as your sense of humour, by the way." Roddy put an arm around her waist. "So do you know where this Jasper actually is?"

"It's Monaco. It's a small country. And if he's anything like he was, you just need to follow the explosions and the smell of burning metal. He calls himself an inventor. My dad used to say that if he was an inventor, it was on his mother's side." She took Roddy's hand. "He was always saying how much he wanted to be able to fly. I guess that was a part of why he left the sewers. He was always on about some new kind of flying machine he had an idea for. Never built them of course. Well, he couldn't. But that never stopped him trying and thinking. He was an old romantic in his way. A bit like you." She smiled fondly.

"I'd prefer to be a young romantic," said Roddy. "But that's fine, if it works for you. Does this mean I have to start wearing tweed now?"

"I'd prefer you to start reading the maps again," said Rita. "I'd actually like to get to Monaco the direct way, not like the way we went to Antibes."

"We got there in the end, didn't we?" Roddy pulled the maps over to look at them.

"Yes. Via Belgium."

"I thought you liked Belgium?"

"I did," said Rita. "I very much enjoyed the three hours we spent there trying to get out of it."

Roddy shook his head in mock resignation. "It's hardly my fault if you can't follow simple instructions."

"Roddy, a simple instruction would be 'turn left here'," said Rita.

"That's what I said, wasn't it? Turn left at Charles de Gaulle Place."

"Yes, but you weren't actually looking were you? You had your eyes closed because you were scared of the traffic." Rita grinned.

"That wasn't traffic, that was attempted homicide," said Roddy. "What is it with French drivers? Oh, no…"

"What is it?" asked Rita.

"I just realised that Monaco is near Italy. There might be…_Italian drivers_ there."

"Roddy, it'll be perfectly safe. We drop by, we see Jasper, we go. This'll be easy."

He stared. "I can't believe you actually said that, Rita. 'This will be easy'? That belongs in the same dictionary as 'nothing can possibly go wrong'."

"Well? Nothing can go wrong. It's Monaco, Roddy. I hear they have paved roads there and everything." Rita patted his shoulder.

"That's not the point. There's such a thing as tempting fate, and that sort of sentence offers it an embossed invitation. You're jinxing us, Rita."

"Me? I'm not the one whose family history consists largely of being torpedoed, _Commander_!" She pushed him away cheerfully.

"I'm just saying, there's a narrative convention at work! Saying 'this will be easy' is right up there with star-crossed lovers in the world of things-which-go-horribly-wrong." Roddy stood up and went to start preparing a meal.

"The star-crossed lovers bit seems to be working so far!" called Rita. Roddy grinned, clasped a hand to his chest and began reciting dramatically.

"She speaks! Oh, speak again, bright angel, that I might-" He fell backwards through the open hatch, still posing. Rita fought down her laughter and returned to the controls.

* * *

"It's going to get a little risky tomorrow," said Rita, scooping up the last of her meal. Roddy, who had already finished his, glanced up.

"What happened to 'it will be easy'?" he said.

"It'll be easy from tomorrow," said Rita, reconsidering. Roddy was not reassured.

"What happens tomorrow, then?"

Rita pushed over the maps. "Tomorrow, we have to get onto a new trunk tunnel to get into Monaco anywhere above sea level. It joins up here, you see?" She pointed. Roddy nodded, and followed the trunk up northwards, where it disappeared into the French Alps.

"It comes from the Alps," he pointed out.

"Exactly," said Rita, seriously. "Which means it carries off all the snowmelt that the local sewers can't handle."

"And the snowmelt started early this year," said Roddy. "You're expecting a bumpy ride?"

Rita sighed anxiously. "I'm not sure what to expect, Roddy. That's the problem. It might be serious, it might not. Either way, we'll both need to be alert."

"Alert but not alarmed it is, then," said Roddy, cheerfully. His face fell when he noticed Rita's grave expression.

"Rita? What's wrong?"

She shook her head.

"Nothing. Nothing. It's just…we're too far from home. I don't know these sewers. I always used to know where I was. Instinctively. I could find my way from St. Albans to Greenwich blindfolded. Now we're a country away and…" She trailed off. Roddy watched her carefully.

"We've got the maps," he pointed out.

"Yes, I know. And they've led us true so far, which is more than I can say for the map-reader." Rita cast Roddy a meaningful look, but she was smiling as she did so. "It just feels unfamiliar. Like we're out of place. Oh, I don't know. It'll be fine, I guess. You wouldn't understand."

Roddy blinked. That had been unexpected. "I don't know," he said slowly. "I seem to remember an unexpected relocation to the sewers which confused me for a moment or two."

"Or three?" Rita smiled.

"Or three. Yes, perhaps. And I didn't have maps then either, but we both came through it all right." He patted her hand encouragingly, and tried to hide his unease.

* * *

It was morning, although the Nice East Central Sewer didn't reflect that. Roddy was in the engine room having a rare morning shower- it wasn't too bad if the bucket of water was left on the engine's heat exchanger for an hour or so beforehand. He lifted it into a bracket on the roof, which began slowly tipping the hot water into a salad strainer which poured down onto Roddy as he stood on a concave metal plate. Learning to enjoy simple pleasures like this had been a key to his adjusting to the sewer life, and now he could scarcely imagine any other attitude. There was a bar of soap as well, but Rita had forbidden its use on pain of pain after it had become lost in the _Jammy Dodger II_'s bilges where it had made its presence felt by filling the boat with puffs of lavender-scented bubbles. Still, the hot water was enough. He closed his eyes and let it cascade onto his face.

He heard footsteps on the deck above him. Rita was still a highly protective captain, and wasn't willing to trust a delicate manoeuvre to anyone else, even Roddy. That was partly why he had the time to take a shower at all- this was normally his watch.

The hatch to the deck creaked open. Roddy opened his eyes and was immediately blinded by the water. Blinking furiously, he saw Rita come down the ladder into the engine room. He muttered an imprecation under his breath and made a dive for his towel in an effort to preserve his modesty. It succeeded, but his dignity paid the price. He slipped on the metal and his head arrived abruptly at the floor, having made a minor detour via the engine casing.

"Roddy? Are you all right?" Rita tried to peer over the machinery. Roddy, rubbing his head with one hand and trying to hold the towel around his waist with the other, stood up.

"I'm a bunch of fluffy ducks, thanks for asking. What is it?"

"I need you on deck. Right now."

"Yes, I was just going to-"

"Right now, Roddy! Right now!" Her voice was tight and determined, but still betrayed an emotion which in any lesser being, Roddy might have thought was nerves.

"Fine! I'll just get dressed and I'll be right with you." He turned away and gathered up his clothes as Rita disappeared back on deck. Shaking his head, he dried off and dressed. As he straightened up again, he caught the back of his head on the shower bracket and the rest of the bucket emptied itself over him. He was already getting the feeling that this would be one of those days…

* * *

Coming through the hatch, he flinched at the breeze. It was like they had shifted climates. There was a wind behind them now, brisk and biting, the sort which blows right through even heavy jackets. Roddy's wet clothes weren't going to help him, but Rita had spotted him and beckoned him up before he had a chance to change. She flicked him an amused glance as he joined her.

"Most of us take our clothes off to have a shower, Roddy," she said. "I'm sure it's in a manual somewhere."

"Oh, hark at the lady's witticisms," said Roddy, sarcastically. "You said you wanted me up here, so here I am."

"You remember how I said that the Alpine drain might be a touch risky?" Her jaw was set in a determined fashion.

"Yes?" Roddy looked around and saw something floating in the water not far off to starboard. If he hadn't been given a clue by the chill wind, he would have assumed it to be a foam sculpture, which were common in the sewers.

"Was that..?" he began.

"An iceberg?" said Rita. "Yes, and it's the fifth I've spotted this morning. The early snowmelt happened too fast and there's solid ice coming down the alpine drains!"

Roddy shivered. "What can I do?"

"I need you to keep a lookout, of course. Get up the bows with a lamp."

Roddy nodded, grabbed one, and sat on the bows. At least here, in the lee of the cockpit, the wind didn't feel like it was trying to strip him to the bone. The water around them was clear, cold and fast-flowing like all glacial melts. The icebergs were easy to spot above the water, but it was what lurked beneath that was the real risk, and more than once Rita was forced to make a last-minute adjustment to avoid gutting the boat on an underwater ice outcrop. She jinked around once such obstacle, and gunned the engines to correct their course. Roddy held on to the rail, and peered ahead. To his horror, he saw it with perfect clarity. The water banked up behind a solid plug of ice- the chunks floating down the drain had become dense enough to block it. He screamed out a warning he thought he would never have to give in a sewer in the south of France.

"Iceberg! Right ahead!"

Rita saw it, and yelled. She threw the wheel hard to port, but the wall of ice was effectively blocking the tunnel. Water was still flowing through gaps, but the _Jammy Dodger II_ had no such chance. There was a grinding of metal as they struck hard. Rita was thrown into the control panel and was winded by the wheel. Gasping for breath, she stood up and took stock. Nothing had broken loose, although their mattress was now at the cockpit steps.

"Roddy? Are you there?" She peered around. Everything seemed to be in its place...

"Roddy?"

Ah…make that _nearly_ everything.


	2. Finding Jasper

The water was so cold that Roddy would have cried out in pain had he not gone under like a stone. The one thought occupying his mind was that there was a solid wall ahead, and the _Jammy Dodger_ bearing down behind him. Being caught between the two would not be a good long-term career move unless one's ambition was to be a bill poster. He swum frantically, not really caring in which direction it was. There was a hideous crunching sound behind him and then a long drawn-out scrape, which indicated the _Jammy Dodger II_ coming to a halt. Roddy found himself being sucked towards a hole in the ice, trapped in a fast-flowing current of freezing water. He lashed out at random, and managed to get a grip on part of the ice formation that was solid enough to allow him to haul himself out of the water. He stood up, shivering so hard his teeth chattered. The _Jammy Dodger _was stuck fast, rising out of the water at the bow at a comical angle.

"Ri…Rita!" he called.

"Roddy!" came the reply. Rita came out of the cockpit and waved to him.

"I'm…fine, fine! A bit…cold, though!" He made his way over to the boat, being careful not to lose his grip on the smooth ice beneath him. Rita picked him up with the mechanical arm, which was somehow still working.

"You don't look all right," she said, lowering him onto the deck.

"Like I said, said! A bit cold, that's all-all." Roddy hugged himself and tried to wring out his sleeves. "Anyone for ska…skating?"

"This isn't the time for you to be funny, Roddy," said Rita severely.

"You're telling…_me_!" said Roddy. "The _Titanic_ was sunk by-by something half that size-size and I feel like a walking snow-cone."

"A bit of a frosty reception, was it?" She grinned.

"What happened-happened to not being funny?"

"I said it wasn't the time _for you_ to be funny, Roddy. I can be funny whenever I like." She nodded to him matter-of-factly.

"R-really? Maybe you sh-should try it now." Roddy grinned. Rita laughed and took off her coat, putting it around Roddy's shaking shoulders. "You should get below and dry off by the engine," she said. "And get changed into something dry. I'm going to check out the damage."

The only dry article of clothing he had left was August St. James' Navy dress jacket. Roddy put it on and huddled close the engine. It had cut out with the impact, leaving the boat's lights on battery back-up, but if the hull was breached the batteries, which were in a compartment below the engine, would surely drown. Roddy looked over to the port hull and saw the repairs done to fix the last hull breach- back in London on the day before Rita's parents talked them into taking a break. Some break! Rita had nearly needed an amputation, Roddy had almost undergone a similar procedure at the hands of a French chemist's cat…but he supposed it had been worthwhile. He pulled Rita's coat around himself and marvelled that he could still smell her on it. Yes. It had been worthwhile. A small trapdoor nearby opened, and Rita poked her head out.

"No holes," she said. "But there's a dent down here the size of the Toad's ego."

"So we're officially in trouble now?" asked Roddy.

Rita shook her head. "Not exactly. We're well clear of the water for now. What worries me is-" She was interrupted by a heavy impact to the stern and then continued. "Is the ice coming down the tunnel towards us. We're a sitting target unless we can break through."

Roddy rubbed his hands together. Steam was rising from his damp clothes as they warmed.

"Well, we've got the mechanical arm. The ice plug can't be that thick if water is still getting through."

Rita brightened. "Good idea, Roddy! We'll need to restart the engine but if we disengage the drive shaft that won't be a problem. We just need something to put in the arm so we can chip away the ice."

Roddy shrugged. "How about a certain hatpin? I've seen it up close on a number of occasions and it seems sturdy enough."

Rita clambered out of the bilges. "Just when I start thinking of you as ballast, Roddy, you come up with an idea that makes me reconsider."

"So you think of me as your skilled equal?" grinned Roddy hopefully. Rita cocked an eyebrow.

"I was thinking of cargo, myself." She patted him on the shoulder and went to check the engine ignition.

* * *

It was slow going, but headway was being made. The hatpin was as sturdy as promised and was making some quite promising holes in the plug. Rita stood at the controls, bringing the arm back and ramming it forward. The only risk was that the recoil was threatening to shake the boat off the plug entirely. A flotilla of smaller icebergs was building up behind them.

"I haven't seen this much ice since the World Cup," said Roddy. "And I haven't been this cold since the Toad tried to freeze us in liquid nitrogen. Do you remember that?"

"How could I forget?" said Rita, smiling to herself.

"I don't suppose you've got another paper clip in your back pocket to get us out of this? I mean, a _really_ big paper clip." Roddy grinned. Rita looked at him pointedly.

"It wasn't my pocket you touched first," she said, a smile playing around her features.

"I had my back to you, didn't I?" Roddy was a picture of offended innocence. Rita laughed.

"I wasn't suggesting anything, Roddy, don't worry." She flicked the controls and the arm rammed forwards, punching out a rough circle of ice. Cracks spread across the face of the plug and frozen shrapnel pattered off the cockpit roof.

"A few more like that and we should be on our way," Rita commented. "I think we'll have to see Jasper now, though. He's probably the only one who can repair us now. Well, the only one I'd trust to."

"You trust him?" Roddy was surprised. Trust wasn't generally Rita's instinctive reaction to anybody.

"Of course, he used to work with dad remember?" Rita brought the arm back again. "Now, I think if I hit that crack there, we might be out of this in a moment…" She aimed carefully. Roddy looked behind them, saw something, and swallowed awkwardly.

"I hope you're right, Rita…"

She turned at the sound of his voice, and saw the iceberg. It was huge, half-blocking the tunnel all by itself. If it came up astern of them while they were still stuck on the ice…well, the _Jammy Dodger II_ would be converted from sedan to hatchback in no uncertain terms. She gritted her teeth.

"Come on, _Jammy_, don't let me down!" She hit the switch. The arm jerked forwards and struck the crack dead centre. There was a splintering noise, and it seemed as if half of the plug disintegrated in front of them. The water surged into the new gap and the boat took off with it. Behind them, the great iceberg slammed into the broken plug, resealing it with a crunch.

"We did it!" Rita hugged Roddy ecstatically and kissed him on the cheek.

"Yes we did! But we're not out of it yet!" He had no objection to that sort of thing, of course, but Roddy was staring wild-eyed ahead of them. The sudden rush of water was bearing them along at breakneck speed and chunks of ice were travelling with them.

Rita sobered up immediately. "Get down below and reconnect the drive shaft!" She took the controls and began fighting with the rudder to avoid collisions. Roddy scrambled into the engine room and began struggling with the switch that connected the shaft back into the engine. Doing this while it was running was a matter of careful timing and two attempts failed with a screech of metal before the third clicked home. The propeller thrashed into life. Roddy wiped his forehead in relief and went back on deck. With propulsion back, Rita's job had become a great deal easier, and she navigated the maze of floating ice almost casually.

"It was like this back home after heavy rain!" she said. "All sorts of things got washed into the drains! Of course, that was mostly cardboard and polystyrene, so it wasn't as if it could sink us if we hit it."

"You think this can?"

"Probably. Or it can cause us a lot of damage. You haven't seen the dent on the keel! We're lucky it didn't damage any of the machinery." She spun the wheel and the _Jammy Dodger II_ danced past a craggy block of ice, spraying it with her wake. "Next stop, Monaco!"

* * *

The stars winked overhead. Patchy clouds obscured the view, which in any case wasn't helped by the thick iron grate. The _Jammy Dodger II_ was moored underneath it on the outskirts of Monaco, in a quiet side-drain untroubled by ice. Rita lay on the bed and looked at them. They still enchanted her. They were nothing like as spectacular as the vista Roddy had shown her outside Paris- her heart still leapt at the memory, and not merely because of the stars- but her fascination remained undimmed.

"Come to bed, Roddy," she yawned. "We don't need to stand watch tonight. Not here. It's perfectly-"

"Don't say it's perfectly safe!" interrupted Roddy. "The last time you said something like that we ran into icebergs."

Rita laughed. "You're a little fixated with this jinxing thing, aren't you?"

"I think I have the right to be," said Roddy. "I was thrown overboard, into what I can tell you was very un-tropical waters. I was fine, by the way. I liked the way you didn't ask that at the time." He was smiling when he said it, but Rita detected a new note in his voice.

"Roddy?"

"Oh, don't worry." He kicked off his shoes and pulled his blanket over himself as he settled back. "I'm just…never mind. Deluded, probably. Good night, Rita."

"Good night, Roddy." She frowned. What was that all about? Was there anything there at all? She shook her head and closed her eyes.

Rita was normally the first of the pair to wake, so it came as a surprise to her to roll over in the morning to find Roddy already moving about the boat. Bright Mediterranean sun was streaming through the grate, hot even at this hour.

"Good morning," said Rita. Roddy smiled.

"Good morning to you. Sorry, I know you like to be up first so you can make trenchant observations about me, but you looked tired so I let you sleep in a little. I've had a look around the place. This is quite an amazing city. Oh, and I got us breakfast." He passed her a plate on which a freshly-baked croissant sat, still warm. Surprised, she took it.

"Where did this come from?"

Roddy shrugged. "Little old rat in a boat came by not long ago. A mobile bakery, it seemed to be. A good idea. Very convenient for the poor ice-bound travellers."

Rita paused and looked up. "Little old rat? Did he leave you a name?"

"How did you know it was a he? And no, he didn't. He just said he'd see us later. I assumed he was being polite."

"He said that?"

Roddy nodded. "They speak French in Monaco, Rita, which is more than I can say for you, if you remember. Not that it mattered. The baker sounded English. Or possibly Scottish. Northern, certainly."

"I think," said Rita. "That you just met Jasper."

"Really?" Roddy blinked. "Why do you say that?"

"He used to run a bread-boat before he met my dad," said Rita. "That's how he used to make a living. He never really gave it up even when he was working the drains with us. Did he leave an address?"

"A business card." Roddy fished around in his pockets and produced it. It was scrawled in pencil on the back of a three of hearts and the only legible word was 'Fontvieille'.

"What does that mean?" asked Rita.

Roddy peered at it. "I saw that, yes. It's on one of the maps as well. It must be a region of the city."

Rita folded the card. "Well, I guess that's our first port of call after breakfast."

* * *

Not far away in the drains of Monaco was another boat, but one which bore little resemblance to the rugged _Jammy Dodger II_. It was sleek and aerodynamic, as if it couldn't decide whether it was a boat or a plane. A Genoese crest was painted crudely on one side. Inside its sleek hull, a meeting was taking place. The curtains had been drawn, and few of the participants could see who it was they were talking to.

"Everything isa nearly ready," said the first rat. He was a thin figure wearing a grey suit.

"Good," said a second. This speaker was old and overweight but well-dressed, and it spoke in a Genoese accent voice with some difficulty, as if speaking around a mouthful of cotton wool. "Then the time it is close to hand? The event, it is on?"  
"It is, Godfather," said a third. "The Rock of Monaco willa be hosting the usual Grimaldi Festival dinner. Everyone who is anyone willa be there."

"The French?" said the one identified as the Godfather.

"The French will be there."

"The British?"

"They," said the first rat, with satisfaction, "Will be there also. They do not have an ambassador yet, but I am informed reliably that the British Embassy will send a delegation."

"This cannot work if the French intervene," said a fourth speaker.

"You are unsure of our plan?" said the Godfather.

"No! No!" There was haste in the fourth one's tone. "No, I ama convinced of it. We shalla return Monaco to its rightful owners. All our cousins will rejoice when the Genoese Mob take revenge on the usurpers of Grimaldi. I merely state that if the Frencha choose to intervene…"

"The French shall not," said the third speaker confidently. "If we can take the British, the French will not dare. Particularly if we take this one." The figure leaned forward and placed a photograph on the table. It was of a tall rat in uniform and had obviously been taken covertly as only the rat's chin was in the shot. The face was obscured.

"I thinka you need a new photographic experta," said the first speaker nastily.

"I do _now_," said the third speaker meaningfully.

"But you know who this is?" said the Godfather.

"Commander Rhys Seddon-Tavish, naval attaché from the Courta of St. James," said the speaker, with more than a little contempt for the title. "He is, what can you say, friendly with the French ambassador. She will not act if he is…made a guest of ours."

"So it all hangs on capturing this one English rat?" The Godfather's voice was tinged with disapproval.

"It woulda make our success certain, Godfather," said the first speaker.

"Very well." The Godfather heaved himself upright in his chair. "We shall go ahead. Do nothing- _nothing_- until we are certain that this Britisher is there." He raised a glass in toast. _"Forza Genoa_, my friends."

The others joined the toast.

* * *

"Even the sewers are new!"

Rita was quite impressed. Fontvieille was a new part of the Principality, having been reclaimed from the Mediterranean only a few decades before. For one who had grown up among Bazalgette's sewers in London- masterpiece of engineering that it was- the smooth-walled drains were a revelation.

"It's amazing, isn't it Roddy?" She beamed at him.

"What? Oh. Yes. Very amusing," he said, clearly distracted. Rita stared.

"No…I said 'amazing'. Is something the matter?"

"No, no. Do you know where we're going? I can't read this card." Roddy squinted at Jasper's spidery handwriting.

"It used to be that you found Jasper by following the explosions," said Rita.

"Okay, well I tend to head away from that sort of thing rather than towards it," said Roddy. "But never mind that. Hang on, turn around a minute!" He ran to the stern and pointed down a side tunnel. Rita hauled the wheel over and the _Jammy Dodger II_ turned in its tracks.

"I think I saw the boat from this morning," said Roddy. "Yes, that's it!" A long, narrow, dark green boat was tied up to a jetty made from a wooden ruler. A ladder rose from the jetty into a hole in the roof of the tunnel. Rita pulled alongside and reversed the engines, bringing them to a halt.

"Ahoy, there!" she called.

There was no response.

"I say, ahoy there, Uncle!"

Roddy looked at her strangely. Rita shrugged.

"I used to call him that when I was small and didn't know any better," she explained. The hatch at the top of the ladder opened with a clang, but nobody came out.

"He doesn't seem very friendly," said Roddy. Rita made no reply, but picked up her hatpin and prepared to leave the boat.

"Hang on, you're not seriously going up there are you?" Roddy hurried to join her. "You don't know who it is! It could be anyone!"

"It's Jasper," said Rita, "And if it isn't they'll wish it was. Come on."

Roddy sighed, and followed.

* * *

The ladder rattled in its brackets as they climbed up it. Rita was tense and alert and kept shifting her grip on the hatpin in a way that would have warned off anyone who saw it. They emerged into a large, high-roofed tunnel which was in darkness save for a few sunbeams coming through wall vents.

"Show yourself!" shouted Rita. "I haven't got all day!"

The lights blazed on. Rita was momentarily blinded and ducked automatically. Roddy blinked and stared around them. The tunnel was strewn with pieces of metal and machinery. Colourful sprays of wires were dotted around like industrial flowers. What really caught Roddy's attention was the enormous contraption in the centre. It sat in rusty metal brackets, but was also wired to the ceiling. It was a large model plane of the sort that some humans were interested in- a Lancaster bomber if he was any judge, but it was been extensively modified. It had been turned into a biplane and the cockpit extensively rebuilt to accommodate a rat pilot. Although it retained the black-and-tan RAAF colour scheme, someone had painted 'JASPER AIR' down the side in bright red.

"Rita Malone! You're about the last person I expected to see here!"

The voice belonged to an elderly rat who wandered around the tail of the bomber, wiping his oily hands on a rag. Jasper was ancient to the point where it was impossible to guess his age by his appearance. A large pair of flying goggles was strapped to his forehead and he wore a battered old work dustcoat. He was grinning broadly. Rita relaxed as soon as she saw him.

"Jasper! I knew it was you!"

"Yes, it is! Jasper is _always_ me!"

"How lucky for both of you," muttered Roddy.

"Hello, you old goat. How have you been?" Rita held out her arms.

Jasper hugged her happily. "Well! Well! The climate here does me a world of good." He adjusted his goggles and peered myopically at Roddy. "And who's the young man?"

"This is Roddy," said Rita. "Roddy, this is Jasper."

Roddy shook hands with the old mechanic, and unconsciously wiped his palm on his trousers.

"Uh, pleased to meet you," he said.

"Pleased to meet you too," said Jasper. "What brings you here from London? Crossing France by drain isn't an easy thing to do. By air, now that'd be the trick!" He pointed proudly to the Lancaster, which chose that inopportune moment to shed a wingtip. It clattered on the floor, the sharp noise making Roddy wince.

"You got here by drain, Jasper," said Rita. "You didn't fly."

"No, so I know what I mean!" Jasper grinned. "So how's your old man, Rita? More importantly, how's my boat?"

"_Your_ boat!" Rita laughed. "Oh, he'll love that when I tell him. Actually, Jasper, there's a bit of a story to tell about the _Jammy Dodger I_."

"One?" Jasper crooked an eyebrow.

Rita nodded, and launched into the tale of how she had met Roddy, and thus unleashed the chain of unlikely events which had resulted in the destruction of the first _Jammy Dodger_. Jasper listened.

"Didn't let you down even at the end, did she? That's the way. But how did you get here if she's at the bottom of Hyde Park?" He looked at them curiously.

"Well, we've got a new _Jammy Dodger_," said Rita. "Thanks to Roddy."

Roddy looked away modestly. Jasper shook his hand.

"Then I'm indebted to you, Mr Roddy. There should always be a _Jammy Dodger_. Can I have a look at it? I didn't get such a good shufti this morning."

"It's just down by the jetty," said Rita. "And…actually, Jasper, we might need your help. We ran into some problems-"

"Ice," said Roddy helpfully.

"-on the way here," Rita finished.

Jasper shrugged. "I'll see what I can do! Lead on!"

* * *

The _Jammy Dodger II_ lay in a cradle. Jasper wandered around it, looking at the dent in the hull, tweaking things and muttering damning phrases along the lines of "Cowboy job, that," and "That wouldn't do at all," and making the kind of sucking-in-the-breath noises that tradesmen always make while appraising an expensive job. Finally he finished and called Roddy and Rita over.

"It's fixable," he said. "A bit of banging will sort out the hull right as rain. But it'll take a while."

"How long?" asked Rita. "We're not planning on being here very long."

Jasper shook his head and sucked in his breath again.

"Oooh…well I'll be the one to disappoint you. Three days, minimum. Job like this can't be rushed."

"Three days? What will we do here for three days?" Roddy looked at Rita, who shrugged.

"There's plenty to be doing," said Jasper. "I'd let you help me with the Lancaster there, but I wouldn't trust anyone but meself on it. It was remote controlled, you see. Radio. But since I'll be flying it, I removed the controls and plumbed them in directly! The transmitter is over there. Not sure what to do with it…" He trailed off and eyed the _Jammy Dodger II _appraisingly.

"Don't even think about it, Jasper," warned Rita affectionately.

He shrugged, and rummaged around in his pockets.

"Well, here's something you could do anyway. It's the Grimaldi Festival tonight. I still get sent tickets for some work I did for the young prince a few years back but I can't be bothered going. You two might as well have them." He looked at the couple and sighed.

"And you'd better dress nice, too," he added.

"Nicer than this?" Rita looked down. She was wearing her usual rig of green jumper and Union Jack trousers. Roddy, of course, had no problems with how she looked in that but he was a rat of culture.

"I know the sort of thing he has in mind," he said. "We'll find something."

Jasper nodded with satisfaction. "Good. You'll do me proud." He turned back to the _Jammy Dodger II_ and studied it again.

"It should be quite a party," he said.


	3. The Party and the Plan

The sleek boat was moored out of sight beside the Rock of Monaco's main drain outlet. A banner proclaiming the name of Grimaldi was strung across the sewer and busy rats darted in and out of a big set of double doors, carrying trays, tables, chairs and other party paraphernalia. A red carpet was being rolled out.

"It is certain they will be there?" said the large, elderly rat known as the Godfather.

"Si," said the one in grey. "Both the British naval attaché anda the French ambassador will be there."

"We know what they look like?"

"The ambassador will be wearing red, I am told. The British officer will presumably be in uniform. You saw the photograph, Godfather, we cannot know his face." The grey figure shrugged.

"I know this," said the Godfather. "You had better be hoping that he is the only one in a uniform, yes?"

"He will be, Godfather. Who else could wear one?"

* * *

Roddy turned the page of the magazine and found to his irritation that the shiny paper was sticking together. It wasn't his sort of magazine, but it was the only one available. Jasper had directed them to the heart of Fontvieille, to the trendiest strip of shops in Monaco that didn't demand to see your title deeds before letting you inside. Picking his clothes for the Grimaldi Dinner hadn't been hard- his dinner jacket hadn't been the same since its proximity to a Bunsen burner in Paris, so the only other option was his Royal Navy uniform. Rita, on the other hand, had nothing suitable. There was the white silk wedding dress her mother had surreptitiously packed before they left for France, but there was an unspoken agreement never to mention that. Or the gold ring her father had secreted in Roddy's jacket pocket. "We've been here for hours, you know," he said.

"Well, there's be lots of people there, right?" called Rita from the fitting booth.

"Probably, but that would have been three or four hours ago when it started."

Rita stuck her head over the door and frowned. "I thought it was tonight?"

"It is. A little thing called humour, Rita, an effort to inject a little levity into the purgatorial situation I find myself in." Roddy sighed and stood up, dropping the magazine on the seat. The shopkeeper watched him suspiciously.

"All right, I'll be ready in a minute." Rita disappeared again and there was a busy few moments. Roddy fingered a rack of bow ties experimentally.

"There! What do you think of this?" Rita emerged behind him.

"Yes, very nice," Roddy said automatically.

"You're not even looking! Come on, take this seriously." She twirled on her heel.

"Rita Malone taking fashion seriously? Whatever next?" Roddy turned, a sardonic grin on his face, and froze as soon as he saw her. She had chosen a floor-length dress in a shade of red which matched her hair perfectly. It wasn't what you would call 'tight-fitting' but it was certainly 'figure hugging'. As she turned, he saw it had a high front and a low back, simple, elegant lines- it was, in short, the height of fashion. It could have been made for her. Rita smiled and smoothed the material down.

"Well?" She looked up. Roddy was regarding her with eyes only fractionally less wide-open than his mouth. He blinked, shook himself, and swallowed nervously.

"It's…um…very nice. Extremely nice. Quite astonishingly flattering, aesthetically apposite, in fact. Which is to say…" He floundered and gave up. "You look beautiful, Rita."

She blushed. "You really think so?"

_You make a home-knit green jumper and a pair of pants which went out of fashion in the 60s look like art! Of course I think so!_ But he didn't say that.

"Yes, I do. You look…" He searched his vocabulary for another adjective and failed dismally. "…just so beautiful." He smiled weakly.

"Can we afford it?" Rita looked at it doubtfully.

"Of course we can. Even if we can't, I think we should try stealing it. Sorry! Sorry! Just my little joke!" Roddy waved a hand at the shopkeeper, who was glaring at him darkly. Rita smiled.

"All right. We'll take it. I'll get changed back and we can go. Are you sure you've got everything you need?"

"Yes, it's all back on the boat. Are you questioning my sartorial sense? The fact that you've picked out a very nice dress doesn't make you Yves Saint Lauren, you know." He grinned even though she had gone back into the booth.

"I'm not questioning your sartorial sense, Roddy, I'm questioning your common sense."

"What, you think I might forget to get dressed tonight?"

"Well, you're quite the eccentric," She poked her head around the corner and flashed him a smile.

"Jasper is an eccentric," said Roddy defensively. "I am multifaceted."

Rita laughed and disappeared again. Was it her imagination or was he acting slightly distantly these days? Perhaps she needed to watch what she was saying. Her sense of humour easily came off as abrasive, but Roddy knew how she felt about him. Didn't he? She puller her jumper over her head, checked her reflection in the piece of mirror on the wall and rejoined him. They purchased the dress and walked down the street outside. It was without doubt the classiest place they had ever been. Roddy, to his irritation, had stood still for three seconds to look at something and a well-dressed passer-by had thrown a coin at his feet in sympathy. They felt uncomfortably out of place but tried to maintain a dignified air. Hot afternoon sunlight beat down on the little strip, nestled in one of the scores of gullies that ran through the rocky parts of the city. Jasper was waiting for them with his dark green boat. He had the oven door open and was selling his bread without a great deal of success.

"Philistines," he muttered as they joined him. "The people here don't appreciate good English cooking."

"That's not a contradiction in terms?" said Roddy. Jasper ignored him.

"Anyway, you got what you need? Good. We'll head back to the workshop. I'll drop you off at the Rock tonight. It'll be a memorable evening."

* * *

The sound of running water came from under Roddy's feet as he paced the deck of the _Jammy Dodger II_ as it lay in Jasper's dry dock. For the seventeenth time, he checked the gold braid on the sleeves of August's uniform and then readjusted the belt so that the ornamental sabre sat more comfortably on his hip. How long could it possibly take her to get ready? Roddy had always thought of Rita as a practical person, down-to-earth and all that. She couldn't possibly need this long! The water cut off at last. Roddy wandered to the rail and looked at Jasper's workshop. It was chaos. It had machinery in the same way Rita's house had children. The model Lancaster had the best spot, of course, but the shadowy shapes of other projects lay everywhere. The transmitter Jasper had removed from the plane's radio controls was on a bench, shiny and silver, the long whip aerial coiled up against the roof. Roddy turned as he heard footsteps behind him, and Rita joined him. He looked at her and his breath caught in his throat. The dress fit her perfectly, and she had taken her hair out of its usual ponytail and allowed it to fall naturally over her shoulders in a scarlet cascade. Then he looked down and suppressed a laugh.

"You're still wearing your sewer boots," he pointed out.

"Well? Have you tried walking in the other ones? I wouldn't trust them to hold me weight. Besides, they'd make a foot taller than you." She put her arm in his. "Are we ready?"

Jasper looked them over approvingly. "Well, don't the two of you scrub up all right! Come on. We'll be late."

* * *

The grey-suited rat who seemed to be the leader of those working for the Godfather skulked in the shadows. He was good at skulking. It was why he had survived, unlike most of the young whelps who had joined the Godfather's service with him. The Genoese Mob offered good promotion prospects, but the incentive scheme could be…well, murder. He was watching the procession of boats bringing guests up to the Rock for the party. He lit a cigarette distractedly, and did a double-take. A narrow green boat had just passed. The two figures standing at the prow looked suspiciously like the ones he had to look out for- an elegant woman in red and an equally-elegant rat in British Navy uniform. It wasn't the kind of boat you expected the French ambassador and the British Naval Attaché to arrive on, but perhaps they were travelling incognito. The grey-suited rat grinned and set off up the canal, maintaining a discreet distance from the green boat. He couldn't afford to let them out of his sight.

* * *

The doorman watched them impassively, as doormen did. The suit he was wearing was undoubtedly well-tailored, but there was a certain point at which tailoring can't make up for the body it covers. Since the body in question was built along the same lines as Whitey, the suit-maker had done their best and hoped that nobody noticed the rest.

"Invitations," he growled in an accented voice. Roddy produced them from inside his jacket. The doorman glanced over them and nodded.

"Okay. You can go in." He pushed open the door. Roddy smiled at Rita, who demurely offered him a hand. They entered quite the grandest space that either of them had ever seen- baroque decorations ran along the length of the ceiling. Chandeliers made of scrap glass glowed above them. Music was playing somewhere. The great and good of Monaco were certainly there, by the dozen in fact, and a hubbub of voices speaking in five languages filled the air.

"Wow," said Rita.

"Well said," complimented Roddy. "Shall we mingle?"

"What?"

He sighed. "Walk around and scavenge what food there is. Leave this to me. This is high society."

"What kind of society am I, then?" Rita grinned.

"You're in a class of your own, darling, you know that," Roddy looked around them. Waiters were moving to and fro carrying trays. He picked up a piece of pastry from one as it passed at shoulder height.

"I say, these are rather good!" He licked his fingers delicately.

"Say what?" Rita turned back to him. Her mouth was full and she was holding a handful of other snacks. Roddy sighed.

"Let me explain the concept of pre-dinner snacks to you. These things, nice as they may be, are not the main meal."

"I knew that," said Rita.

"Commander! Is that you? Good of you to come!" Roddy turned. He was being addressed by a partygoer wearing a tuxedo and a deeply incongruous top hat. The speaker hesitated midway through extending a hand to him. Roddy shook it anyway.

"Thank you," he said. It was best to keep up the pretence. The behatted one regarded him curiously.

"You're not Commander Seddon-Tavish, are you?"

"St. James," said Roddy. "Roderick St. James. And you are?"

"Winston Tohlgren," replied the rat. "I thought Commander Seddon-Tavish was going to be here. I had an awfully good story to tell him. Do you know if he's coming?"

"Oh…I imagine he'll be here," invented Roddy, desperately. Winston clapped him on the back heartily.

"I bet he will! Ambassador Sofie will be here too and you know what they say about those two!" He winked suggestively.

"What? Oh…yes. Everyone does." Roddy looked around for a way out. Rita joined him.

"Roddy, this place is amazing!"

"Yes, yes…oh, Mr Tohlgren, this is Rita." Roddy introduced her. Winston took her hand politely.

"A pleasure to meet you, my dear lady! Welcome to the show! These Monaco chaps certainly know how to throw a hooley."

"A what?" asked Rita. But Winston was already gone, bearing down on some other hapless bystander. She looked at Roddy quizzically.

"Who was that?"

"I don't have the faintest idea," said Roddy simply. "But I think we might have a problem. He seemed to think that I was someone called Commander Seddon-Tavish and then there's something bizarre going on with the French ambassador."

"Why would he think that? About you, I mean." Rita frowned. Roddy tapped his sleeve meaningfully. August St. James' braid glittered in the light from the chandeliers.

"There's something going on here," said Rita. I was just talking to that guy there." She pointed to a shadowy figure in a grey suit, who was clearly trying to watch them without being noticed.

"Yes?"

"Well, he thought I was the French ambassador. And that there was something bizarre going on with someone called Commander Seddon-Tavish. He said it was nice that the embassy had given you time off."

"Embassy?"

"Well, I don't know, do I?" said Rita. "It's all Greek to me."

"I'd have thought it would be the British embassy," joked Roddy. "All right, all right, don't look like that. It was just an observation."

Rita looked around them suspiciously. Years of working the drains had given her an instinct about these things and there was something not right about this party. The rat in grey was watching them too intently. There were too many waiters standing around not doing anything. And why had they already been involved in a case of mistaken identities?

* * *

The band was playing something measured but jazzy. The guests were mostly sitting at their two-person tables, talking in low voices. The meal had been excellent, and the dessert promised to be as well. A few guests were settling down their food by taking advantage of the near-empty dance floor. Roddy and Rita were among them. It had taken him some time to convince her to follow his lead, but she was turning out to be a surprisingly good dancer, sewer boots notwithstanding. Roddy hoped that nobody had noticed.

"See? This isn't too bad." He smiled at her and shifted his hand on her waist. She smiled back.

"No, it isn't. In fact it's very nice. Good old Jasper, if only he could see us!"

"Do you think he'll ever get that thing to fly?"

"Oh, probably. Maybe not for long, though. That's always been his plan. He gave up on balloons after he realised that hydrogen tended to explode around him." She laughed. "I'm glad he's doing all right. Dad will be happy to hear about it."

"Do you want to tell him?" Roddy turned them around slowly and changed step as the band struck up a slower tune. "No, no, this is a waltz. Hear the different time signature? It's three now, so we dance _one_ two three, _one_ two three." He guided her movements accordingly. She smiled and got into the new rhythm.

"It's funny," she said. "I do want to see dad again. And mum. All of them. Even grandmother, which I didn't think I'd say before one of us was buried."

Roddy looked at her in mock surprise. "Rita Malone, are you getting homesick?"

"No! Of course not! I love it here," She shook her head. "But…I guess you could say that anyway. I miss them. I miss being where I know."

She looked so downcast towards the end of the sentence that Roddy stopped dancing and kissed her forehead. "Well, when this is over we might be able to get a lift back to Gatwick with Jasper!"

* * *

The grey-suited rat sidled over to a waiter.

"Is it ready?" he whispered.

"Is what ready mate?" asked the waiter in an Australian accent.

"The thing! You know!" The grey one looked at the waiter until realisation dawned.

"You don't…havea any idea what I'ma talking about, do you?"

"No, mate," said the waiter. The grey rat glared at him and sidled off. The waiter turned to the barman.

"Funny one, that. How's it going Bruce?"

The barman shrugged and replied in an identical accent. "Not bad, Bruce. Beats Calais, don't it?"

"S'funny you should mention that," said the first Bruce. "You remember that young Pommy couple who gave us that lift? I reckon I saw them here tonight. Imagine that!"

Bruce Two stared. "Fair dinkum?"

"Fair dinkum, mate, I swear! Right here!" Bruce One held up a hand.

"You reckon they tied the knot?" said Bruce Two, leering.

"I don't know, mate," said Bruce One. He picked up his tray and went back to circulating.

* * *

The grey-suited rat sidled over to a waiter.

"Is it ready?" he whispered. "You better know what I'ma talking about thisa time."

The waiter stared at him. "Of course it's ready Ricco, what do you thinka I'm doing here? Counting coconuts?"

Ricco the grey glared. "Listen, it is just abouta time. You can see the ambassador and her friend?" He pointed to the two figures on the dance floor- one in Royal Navy black, the other in red. The waiter nodded.

"I will tell the guys. Are we ready to go now?"

"Not yet! Wait for the Grimaldi ratta to make his big speech about how good he is. Then we go."

"We can't go now?"

Ricco shrugged. "Sure, but it would be funnier to interrupt him. Don't you think, Carlo?"

"He is not here, Ricco, that's what I ama telling you!"

"The Grimaldi is not here?" There was a moment of panic in Ricco's voice. Carlo shook his head. Ricco grimaced.

"No matter. Justa make sure you get the British officer anda the Frenchwoman."

* * *

Rita looked up into Roddy's brown eyes. As usual, they were clear and open, but she could sense an undercurrent when she found herself in one.

"There's something that's been bothering me recently," she began. "I know it's stupid but…is everything all right?"

Roddy laughed. "Oh, yes. The boat needs repair, we're on the other side of Europe, you're getting homesick and I'm impersonating someone I've never heard of. What could be better?"

"No, I mean with us." Rita's serious face stopped him in his tracks. "If there's something the matter, Roddy, for pity's sake tell me!"

He paused before replying. "Well…the thing is…yes. I mean, no. I mean, it's just nerves. You said it yourself you feel awkward this far from home."

"What is it?" She put a hand to his cheek to stop him looking away. He stared into her eyes, those green eyes which seemed to see into his soul.

"It's just some of the things you've said to me," he said. "Stupid things. Like when you fished me out of the icy water and didn't ask how I was. I knew you knew that I was, but it just seemed strange. Almost like you didn't care." He stopped and cursed himself. That had come out wrong, far too harsh. "No! That's not what I meant, Rita, please believe me! I just feel somehow…" He trailed off, trying to find a word which wouldn't make the situation worse.

"Taken for granted?" Rita watched his face carefully. He didn't reply, but she knew she was right from the expression which flickered across it. "I never meant that. I would never try to make you feel like that."

"I know, I know." Roddy's shoulders sagged. "I said it was stupid. I'm sorry, Rita, I should never have mentioned it."

"You didn't," she said. "I did. And it's all right. Don't feel bad. I know I can say the wrong thing sometimes, but I don't really mean it. Not really."

He smiled bravely. "I know. And I can be an idiot as well."

"No, you're not," she drew closer and lowered her voice. "You mean the world to me, Roddy St. James, and don't you ever forget it. I wouldn't even be here without you!"

Their eyes met. An agreement was reached. Their eyes closed as they inclined their heads…

"Nobody move!"

The voice was a shout from the stage. Rita and Roddy jerked back and stared. The band was being hustled off stage by a trio of waiters armed with knives. A grey-suited figure was at the microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen! An announcement I have to make! Centuries ago, this place belonged to Genoa, and it wasa taken by base treachery by Grimaldi the Malicious! Now I tella you, the history hasa come full circle and the Genoese shall once again rule!"

There was a chorus of dismayed voices.

"Do not panic! You will not be harmed!" Ricco pointed into the crowd, and a spotlight guided by one of his gangsters focused on Roddy and Rita.

"The two of you will nota move! You are coming with me!"

"Sorry I'm late, chaps," A new voice entered the room. The doors from the kitchen opened and a dignified couple emerged, one in red, one in Royal Navy black. The latter continued speaking in a casual, refined voice. "Security, you know how it is. Had to come in the back way."

"Rhys?" said the lady in a French accent, poking him in the ribs. Rhys looked around and realised that Ricco was staring at him.

"Who inna the heck are you?" he demanded.

Rhys drew himself up.

"Commander Rhys Seddon-Tavish, Naval Attaché at the British Embassy. This is Ambassador Sofia of the French Republic. And you, sir, are a-"

Ricco cut him off and turned back to Rita and Roddy.

"So who inna the heck are _they_?"

"Boss," said Carlo in a whisper. "We don' have time for this…"

Ricco reached a decision. "We take alla four of them! Get them!"

* * *

"Run!"

Rita grabbed Roddy's arm and they took off across the dance floor. Rhys and Sofia followed close behind. They barged through a crowd of stunned guests, bowling over Winston Tohlgren and scattering tables in their wake. They emerged onto a balcony far above the harbour. It was a sheer drop of the sort that Monaco specialises in. Far below, the waves whispered on the rocks. Roddy swallowed.

"Uh, a dead end, I think!" he said. Ricco's rats emerged onto the balcony. Seeing their quarry cornered, they took their time to form up around them.

"Get them over the edge!" hissed Rhys. "It's a long fall but it's deep water!"

"I am not leaving you!" said Sofia, grabbing his arm.

"I don' know what the heck issa going on with you, but you will all come with us in peace!" said Ricco happily. "Or you willa come with us inna…pieces! Ahaha!"

Rhys sighed. "This isn't one of those things we discuss, Sofia! Go! I'm sure…well, I'm sure you'll be fine. Look after her, won't you?" He added to Rita, who stopped and stared.

"Look, sunshine, I don't know who you think you are, but I'm not leaving Roddy either! We go together!"

Roddy's heart lifted at the sentiment, but plunged at the likely consequences.

"Rita! Please!" He eyed the approaching gangsters uneasily. She stared at him and reached a decision. This other rat seemed a capable sort. And someone had to look after Sofia.

"This issa not a good time for an experiment inna democracy," said Ricco impatiently. "The boat issa ready! Genoa awaits us!"

"Sofia, go!" insisted Rhys. "While you still can!"

Sofia, tears in her eyes, nodded. In one swift movement, she vaulted the parapet and was gone. Rhys drew his sword. Roddy did likewise. Rita wished she had a hatpin. Rhys grinned at Roddy.

"You ever used that, sir?"

"What? Oh, not really," Roddy gripped it tightly. The gangsters surrounded them.

"It's a piece of cake, old man. Just follow my lead." Rhys turned to Ricco. "Come on then, chaps, let's get this over with!"

The gangsters charged. Rita threw one of Ricco's rats to the ground, and tried to kick out at another. She realised too late that the dress wasn't designed for this sort of thing. She overbalanced, staggered backwards to the balcony edge and, with a despairing cry, fell towards the blue waters below.


	4. The Getaway

It all happened too fast. Rhys and Roddy kept the gangsters back for a second purely thanks to the shining metal of their sabres. Roddy just had time to think that they might yet get away with it when the net descended over them both and they were borne to the ground.

"We take them alive!" shouted Ricco. "The boss needs them both alive!"

"What about the two that went over the edge?" said one of the others.

"We do not need them! These two are important! Well…one of them is. I don' know who the other one thinks he is." He picked up the swords, glanced at them contemptuously, and threw them one by one over the balcony.

"What are they talking about?" hissed Roddy. Rhys winced.

"I think they mean me, old chap. I seem to have got you into some kind of a bind here!"

They were hauled to their feet and Ricco began shepherding the ground towards the exit. The rest of the guests watched in bewildered silence as they were marched past and down the steps to the canal outside. Ricco looked around.

"Where is the boat? It shouda be here by now!"

"It's coming," said Carlo. He pointed to one of the Mob rats, who was hunched over a radio control set.

"It better be! Seal the doors behind us, we cannot have anyone pursuing!" Ricco waved a hand and turned back to Roddy and Rhys.

"I don' know what is going on here," he said. "But I will tella you this- one of you is in a world of trouble. The other one…will wish he was."

Roddy swallowed anxiously.

"We should stick together," whispered Rhys. "They don't know which one of us they need yet. If they find out who we really are, one of us will be for the high jump!"

Roddy nodded. That made sense, but he still didn't know what their captors wanted. And where was Rita? Had she managed to escape? He had lost sight of her when they attacked. The sound of a powerful engine approached, and a sleek motorboat drew up. A remote-controlled masterpiece, it could have fetched a good price in any country. Roddy couldn't help but admire the stylish lines even as he was hustled aboard and down into a small cabin with a single window. Rhys was pushed in after him. The door slammed shut and was locked, and the two rats heard the engines grumble into life again. Rhys seemed unbothered by the sudden turn of events and lay down in one corner with every sign of relaxation. Now that the chaos was over, Roddy was able to get a good look at him. Rhys was some years older than Roddy, with black hair rather than brown, although it was beginning to show a faint dusting of grey around the edges.

"Well, since we're going to be spending some time together, I think we should get to know each other. Commander Rhys Seddon-Tavish, naval attaché to the British Embassy in Monaco. And you are?"

"Roddy," said Roddy. "Roddy St. James."

"Well, I can't think of a better cove to be in this jam with than a fellow officer, at least," said Rhys. "We'll show them what the Royal Navy can do!"

Roddy hesitated, wondering whether this was the best time to admit that it wasn't really his uniform that he was wearing.

"Well, it's funny you should mention that…" he began.

* * *

Rita surfaced, gasping for air. The fall had been bad, but as always it had been the sudden stop at the bottom which had been the problem because water is not as soft as it seems if hit hard enough. She had tried to orient herself to minimise the impact- an old sewer-hand's trick- but it didn't seem to have helped. Every part of her body hurt, and her ears were ringing painfully. Deciding where the shore was by the number of lights, she swam a few strokes towards it, and found herself being washed up, almost at once, on a narrow, pebbly beach. Rita hauled herself out of the water, coughed up what seemed like half the Mediterranean, and lay back, panting for air. After a while, the lights of the city stopped spinning and she stood up shakily. The dress was more or less written off, and Rita wasn't entirely disappointed to see this. She spotted an indistinct figure on a deckchair under an umbrella- a distinctly strange sight at this time of night- and staggered towards it.

"Please, help me! Do you speak…I mean, _parlez vous Anglais_? English?"

The figure put down its newspaper and stared at her. It was pale white with sunscreen and was wearing an old-fashioned pair of striped trunks, but there was no mistaking the voice.

"Why cannot I get away from you two?" said Le Frog, with irritation. "I come 'ere for a quiet 'oliday away from everything and something always goes wrong."

"I know the feeling," said Rita. "Listen-"

"I am trying not to," said Le Frog, returning to the paper. "This is Le Frog's time, not yours. I 'ave better things to do than waste time with your moonlight swims."

Rita bridled. "I was not swimming! And what are you doing here anyway, covered in sunscreen after dark."

"One cannot be too careful with one's complexion," said Le Frog patronisingly, eying her over the page. "I 'ave an image to maintain."

"An image as what? A no-good waste of space?"

Le Frog sighed. "Normally I would rise to the bait, my confrontational coincidental companion, but as I say, I am on 'oliday and I do not care. There is an English phrase involving sticks and stones which comes to mind."

"I can think of a couple of other English phrases which come to mind," muttered Rita. Clearly there wasn't much help to be had here. The mercenary was never going to help her unless there was something in it for him.

"Listen, Roddy's in danger. Roddy St. James? Descendant of the colleague of your ancestor?"

"Is 'e? 'Ow fascinating."

"That doesn't mean anything to you?"

"My deal with 'im is done. I 'elped 'im save you, I got my family's medal back. Case closed." Le Frog put his hands behind his head. Rita stared, and racked her brain, trying to think of another way into the amphibian's mind.

"The sovereignty of a French people might be at stake!" she said. Le Frog sat up and stared at her.

"What?"

"It was a gang of…Genoese. They want to do something…take back Monaco or something. They've taken Roddy hostage!"

Le Frog stood up and wiped the sunscreen from around his eyes, leaving a large green area on his face that did nothing to enhance his dignity.

"Take…back…Monaco?"

"Yes!" Rita could sense that she was onto a winner here. She was damned if she'd beg for help, but right now Le Frog was one of a very few people she knew in the city, and he had a code of honour…of sorts.

There was a splashing from the water's edge, and another figure emerged unsteadily. It was Sofia. Le Frog stared at her in amazement.

"Madam Ambassador?"

"Oui," affirmed Sofia, swaying gently. Le Frog's gaze went from Rita to Sofia and back again. Then he drew himself to attention.

"Let it not be said that a Le Frog was backward in coming forward in a time of need! Madam Ambassador, I stand ready to serve the Republic!"

Sofia blinked at him.

"I think she'll need a bit of time to recover," said Rita quietly.

Le Frog looked at her sideways. "Do we 'ave a plan?"

Rita thought. "Not yet. I don't even know where they've taken him." She fought down a wave of panic at the thought of Roddy.

"Probably…probably to sea," said Sofia. "I 'eard them talking about it. They will be going back to Genoa, so they will be crossing the Ligurian Sea."

Le Frog groaned. "We shall never catch them! We do not 'ave a fast enough boat!"

"I do," said Rita firmly, before remembering that right now, that wasn't true. The _Jammy Dodger II_ was sitting in Jasper's dock waiting for a dose of panel-beating. But Jasper might still hold the key…

There was a pair of whistling noises from above, and two flashes of steel in the light. Rita looked down at the sabre which had driven itself point-first into the sand by her foot. Another had neatly cut Le Frog's umbrella in half. Sofia stared in shock at the sky and fainted. Rita collected the weapons.

"Come on, I know where we have to go. You…" She sighed. "Pick up the ambassador and follow me."

* * *

Rhys stared.

"You're not Royal Navy? But you wear the Queen's uniform!"

"It's my ancestor's," explained Roddy again. "It belongs to my family. It was the only thing I had which suited the dinner."

"It's cruelly ironic that you wouldn't be here if you had a more expansive wardrobe," said Rhys. "On the other hand, you might be dead if you did. Or I might be. Look, I don't know what's going on here either but we've got to keep these Mafia wallahs confused as to who we are!"

Roddy nodded. Rhys relaxed slightly.

"Still, Navy or not, you didn't hesitate back on the balcony. And your name rings a bell. You're not related to August St. James, by any chance?"

Roddy nodded again. "Oh, yes, this is his uniform, in fact."

"Then I'm doubly pleased to meet you, sir! I had a distant relative who once served with August when they were new recruits! Long dead, of course, but he told my father's father's father who told my grandfather who told me that August was a credit to the Service. I see his traditions have lived on even if his occupation has not."

Roddy smiled proudly. "I didn't even know about the connection until we got to Paris. So what exactly is going on here?"

Rhys raised an eyebrow. "You know much of the history of this place?"

"Not really," Roddy shook his head.

"Monaco used to belong to Genoa," explained Rhys. "But they lost it in the Thirteenth Century when a rather underhanded chap called Grimaldi disguised himself to get inside and then killed everyone. Since then, there's always been a rumour that the Genoese Mob are going to try to retake it."

"But why would that involve us?" asked Roddy.

"Ah, well," Rhys had the decency to look embarrassed. "It probably involves _me_ rather than _us_. Monaco is a French protectorate. France has responsibility for its defence."

"So that's why they tried to kidnap the French ambassador?" Roddy was working it out now.

"Yes, dear Sofia. They failed, or I hope so anyway. But they have me, which is almost as good. I presume they think that with me here, Sofia will not dare to act against them. And nor will our embassy. Clever scoundrels, they really thought this through!"

"Why would the French care about you?"

"They wouldn't. Sofia would." Rhys smiled slightly and produced a small velvet box from his pocket. Inside a small silver ring gleamed brightly. "Not diplomatic protocol, of course, and a gross breach of professional ethics and whatnot, but I'm ready to retire anyway. I was going to ask her tonight, you know. Rotten luck with all this business. But love conquers all, as they say."

"Don't they also say that all is fair in love and war?"

Rhys laughed. "Yes they do, old sock, but I find that guided missiles are suitable only for the latter."

Roddy laughed despite himself. Though Rhys was sometimes flippant to the point of appearing uncaring, it was clear that he had a good, practical heart and the warmth in his voice when he talked about Sofia was unashamed.

"And what about your partner," said Rhys. "A fine figure of a woman, if you'll forgive me! Certainly wanted to give these Mafia types what-for even though she was unarmed!"

"She doesn't need to be," said Roddy, with feeling.

"She should be fine," said Rhys. "She can look after Sofia. Sofia is a dear thing, but not what you would call tough."

"Rita is exactly what you'd call tough," said Roddy. "She'll be fine." He paused and wondered where she was, what had happened to her. "She'll be fine…" he repeated, quietly.

* * *

Le Frog paused and held up a hand.

"Someone is coming!" he declared. Rita nodded grimly and the small group tried to hide in the nearest shadow. Footsteps were approaching, at least two pairs. Rita peered around the corner, paused and glared at Le Frog.

"Watch the hands, greenskin!"

He shrugged, grinning broadly. "I cannot 'elp it, my suspicious escapee! We do not 'ave much space back 'ere."

Rita ignored him and looked back around the corner. Two rats were approaching, dressed in waiter's clothing. They stopped just around the corner and rested against it, breathing hard.

"Did we lose them, Bruce? I think we lost them."

"We'd better have lost them, Bruce. I'm flat out like a lizard drinking here."

Rita stepped out into the light and put her hands on her hips.

"What are you two doing here?"

The two Bruces regarded her blankly for a moment until realisation dawned.

"See, Bruce! I told you it was them! Hello again…Rita, wasn't it? From Calais?" Bruce One extended a friendly hand. Rita shook it. She had been right, and now there were two more possible allies. The Australians had less reason to help than any of her other companions, but they had already proven themselves to be loyal and trustworthy by risking their lives to refuel the _Jammy Dodger II_ in Calais.

"What on earth are you two doing here?" she asked.

"Whatever it takes, mate," said a Bruce. "We had to leave Calais. In a bit of a hurry."

"There was an incident," said the other Bruce. "We…probably can't go there again. Ever."

Rita stared and decided that she didn't want to know.

"So we fetched up here and blagged ourselves jobs," continued Number One Bruce. "Where's the other one? Was it Bruce? I mean, Roddy?"

"They took him," said Rita. "Those guys back at the party with the knives."

"That was a funny affair, wasn't it?" said Bruce One.

"It was that," said Bruce Two. "We only just kicked down the doors and got away ourselves."

"Are you going to try to get him back?" asked Bruce One.

Rita nodded. "But they must be miles away by now!"

Bruce Two scratched his head. "I dunno, it'll take 'em a while to get the docks. Once they're out on the open sea though…we'd need to fly to stand a hope."

"That," said Rita, "Is precisely what I have in mind."

* * *

The workshop was lit brightly by the standing lights scattered around the floor. Jasper was elbows-deep in the Lancaster's second port engine when he heard the grate in the floor being kicked open. He glanced up, annoyed at the interruption, and saw Rita piling out of the shaft, followed by a small, bedraggled group of strangers including a well-dressed female rat, two waiters and a sunscreen-smeared frog wearing red and white striped bathing trunks

"What the blazes?" said Jasper, straightening. "Rita, I thought you'd still be at the dinner? And where's Roddy?"

"That's the problem, uncle," said Rita, setting off across the floor towards the dock. "Something very bad has happened. We need to get after them right now!"

"Get after who? Rita? What's happened?" Jasper clambered down from his ladder and set off after Rita as she boarded the _Jammy Dodger II _and began rummaging in one of its lockers.

"But you can't take the _Dodger_! She's not ready yet!" Jasper waved his hands frantically.

"I'm not taking it," said Rita, holding up a pile of clothes. "I'm going to change into something more suitable and them I'm going to go and kick some-"

Le Frog coughed warningly. Rita mellowed slightly.

"I mean, I'm going to _go and rescue_ Roddy." She went below with her clothes. Jasper blinked once or twice and looked at the small crowd of people who had arrived with Rita.

"Jasper," he said, holding out his hand.

"Ambassador Sofia de Lesseps of France," said Sofia.

"Bruce," said Bruce.

"Bruce," said the other Bruce. Jasper looked at them and like most people who met the Australians, stopped trying to understand.

"And the amphibian?"

Le Frog saluted. "A selfless servant of France!" he said pompously. The Bruces rolled their eyes. Sofia took pity on the elderly mechanic and explained the situation. Jasper followed every word.

"Then they'll be taking the main drain down the bay," he said. "Which is good. We can stop them! You two-" he indicated the Bruces. "Take my boat, that dark green one. Get down there and start stopping traffic!"

"But the main canal is already dangerous with floating ice," said Sofia. "They won't take that way out!"

"With a boat that size they won't have a choice," said Bruce. "Come on, Bruce. Let's do it. They'll be madder than cut snakes."

"Madder than a sack of 'em," said Bruce Number Two, happily. "No wucking forries." They left. Behind Jasper, Rita emerged in her usual clothes and dropped neatly down to join Sofia, Le Frog and Jasper. She jerked her thumb at the Lancaster.

"Does that thing work yet?"

* * *

There was a knocking on the door, which opened. Roddy blinked in the sudden light from the corridor, and was rudely jerked to his feet by Ricco.

"The boss wantsa to see you both," he said darkly. Rhys was pulled upright as well and both English rats were marched to the boat's deck. Roddy looked up and saw that they were still in Monaco drains. There was a bump on the side of the boat, and a small chunk of ice span away in the current. The snowmelt must have been really bad to carry all the way down here!

There was a chair, leather and high-backed, in the middle of the deck, which was surrounded by dark-clothed rats carrying a variety of weapons in meaningful ways.

"Gentlemen," said the chair. Its occupant leaned forward. It was a large, elderly rat wearing an old-fashioned pinstripe suit with an incongruous bright red rosette in the lapel.

"I assume you are wondering why you are here, Commander?"

Rhys elbowed Roddy discreetly. He realised what he had to do.

"Um, as a matter of fact…yes," he stammered.

"So am I," said Rhys.

"Then I shall tell you. My name is Rat Valone. My people call me…Godfather." The old rat sat back and blew a smoke ring from his cigar.

"You are here, gentlemen, because you are useful to me. But…only one of you is really useful. The other is…not. I wonder which one it is?"

"If you're waiting for Spartacus to step forward," said Rhys, "You're wasting your time."

"Yes," agreed Roddy desperately. "For I am Spartacus!"  
"As am I" said Rhys, grinning. The Godfather glared at them for a moment.

"I am awake to your little game, gentlemen. You know I need one of you so you will pretend to be the other until you yourselves have forgotten who is who."

"We have ways of making you talk," said Carlo, eyeing Roddy menacingly and fingering the edge of his knife. Ricco flashed his subordinate a look, and the Godfather waved them both into silence.

"No, cousin, we do not. For we need the right one to be…intact, to be of any use to us." Rat Valone put out his cigar. "Such a pity we did not take the women as well. They would have made this so much easier. These Navy types are more inclined to put on the bravado, yes? Name, rank and serial number only! But not the name, I fancy…for then it would be…up stumps? Forgive me, I am not familiar with your game of cricket."

"_Forza Italia_, huh?" said Rhys, quoting the Italian football team's most famous chant.

"I prefer _Forza Genoa_, but you are on the right track." Valone sat back. "Gentlemen, it will be a long voyage across the Ligurian Sea. This boat once belonged to the young human Prince of Monaco, so it is swift, but it is not so swift that we will not have time for many, many more chats before we arrive in Genoa. The next one, I assure you, will not be so pleasant. The French lady, she will not cooperate if you are killed, whichever one of you is seeing her, but I am sure we can find parts that she will not miss unduly much." Valone smiled like a shark, and waved a hand. "Take them away."

As they were escorted back below, Roddy looked up as the rat with the radio controls shouted a warning.

"Boss! There's something ahead!"

* * *

Bruce Number One looked at the approaching motorboat critically, and then glanced back to the stern of Jasper's vessel where Bruce Number Two was attempting to tie an iceberg to it. It wasn't easy keeping the long, narrow boat held across the tunnel, but they were managing it and were studiously ignoring the chorus of abuse being thrown at them from other boaters.

"I think we've got them, mate," he said, getting down. "No way can they get past this."

The sleek motorboat's engine revved angrily. There was a surge of water, and a _crunch_ noise. Bruce watched their quarry receding into the distance and looked down as the water came over his knees.

"Maybe not," he admitted.

* * *

"Try it now!"

Rita punched the button again. The port engine spluttered half-heartedly, rotated once and then stopped. Jasper swore noisily from somewhere inside it.

"I can't believe it! This worked this morning! What could possibly be wrong?"

Rita was almost screaming with exasperation. She knew that this was a long shot, but surely it couldn't go wrong before leaving the workshop? The hatch opened in the floor, and the two Bruces squelched in.

"Sorry, mates, we hit a slight technical hitch out there…" said Number One Bruce.

"Which is to say that we were hit _with_ a slight technical hitch," said the other one.

"Which is to say we were clobbered by the _QEII_'s ugly sister," finished the first Bruce. "Sorry, mate, but the boat's cactus."

"Cactus?" said Le Frog, who was leaning on the plane's tyres and looking bored.

"Broken. Stuffed. Sunken. An ex-boat," elaborated Bruce Two.

"Then we've no time to lose," said Sofia. "They must be in the 'arbour by now!"

"So how's this all going?" said Bruce One.

"Very well, very well," said Jasper distractedly. "In fact, if you could pass me that spanner just there? There, by your foot."

Bruce passed it up and peered into the engine casing. "Looks like quite a job there, mate."

Jasper gave something in the engine a savage twist. A jet of oil blasted out and hit Bruce in the face, but then the engine roared into life. Jasper laughed joyfully.

"Now we're talking!"

"So we can go?" Rita climbed out of the cockpit as Jasper climbed into it. Only he could fly this thing safely. If the word could be applied to it at all. Jasper hit a row of switches and the other three engines came to life, filling the workshop with noise and blue smoke.

"Not yet!" shouted Jasper. "Someone get that thing off the bench!" He pointed to the transmitter he had found left over from building the model plane's controls into the cockpit directly. A Bruce handed it up along with a small oscilloscope.

"I hope you know what you're doing!" he shouted.

Sofia climbed into the third seat and took the equipment. "I will go with you! I cannot stay behind!"

"We can take one more!" Jasper looked around. Le Frog sighed and wandered up the side of the fuselage.

"I 'ope you were not thinking of starting this endeavour without me, my airborne adventurers?" he said, sitting down.

"All right!" shouted Jasper to the Bruces. "Then the two of you will have to stay behind!"

"No worries, mate!" said Bruce One.

"I need you to open the hangar doors though! That lever there!" Jasper pointed again as the engines spluttered slightly. Bruce yanked the indicated control hard and set of doors at the other end of the workshop opened slowly. A night breeze blew in, clearing some of the exhaust smoke. Bruce Two kicked away the chocks and Jasper turned the great plane slowly. He pulled his goggles over his eyes excitedly.

"Through adversity to the stars! Tally ho!" The engines thundered up to full power and the Lancaster lumbered unsteadily, but with increasing speed, down the tunnel.

"Do you know if this thing will work?" shouted Rita.

"No!" replied Jasper cheerily. "But we'll all find out in six point five seconds!"

"Why six point five seconds?" asked Rita.

"That's how long it'll take to fall onto the rocks if we can't take off before we run out of runway! Run out of runway, hahahah!" Jasper laughed madly.

Rita sat back and tried not to think about that. Or about the roaring cacophony which seemed to fill the world. Or about Roddy. Poor, dear Roddy…

"Here we go!" shouted Jasper. The hangar doors shot past them in a blur and the plane emerged into the night air. The 'runway' was a narrow strip of sand high up on a cliff edge, and Rita saw distance markers flashing past them, counting down alarmingly fast. The land fell away beneath her and she felt a sickening lurch in her stomach as the plane dropped suddenly.

"Come on! Come on!" Jasper was screaming at the controls hysterically. As if in response, the note of the engines changed down as they stopped struggling. The sharp fall had given them the airspeed they needed. Jasper Air was in business.

The Lancaster turned once, high above the glittering city, and turned out to sea.

"Hang on, Roddy," whispered Rita, her words lost in the slipstream. "We're coming."


	5. Interdiction

"It's self-explanatory," said Jasper. He pointed to the three levers on the control panel in front of him. "It goes yaw, pitch and roll." He tapped them in turn, and then frowned. "Or is it pitch, yaw and roll…I can never remember. Anyway, that's definitely the throttle." He pointed to a fourth lever near his left knee. He hesitated again and looked at an identical lever on his right. "Or is that one…well, one of them is the throttle. The other one controls the undercarriage, which we really, really don't want to put down in flight."

"We're going to die," muttered Rita quietly.

"Pardon?" Jasper looked up. She waved a hand.

"Nothing, nothing! Why are you telling me this anyway?"

"Because you're going to be driving it in a minute. I have to go and talk to Sofia." Jasper started undoing his seatbelt. The awkward movement did little to help the stability of the Lancaster, which wobbled alarmingly until Rita made a dive past Jasper to grab onto the controls.

"There, you see? Easy." Jasper smiled at her and began inching his way back along the fuselage to where the ambassador was sitting.

"Piece of cake," said Rita to herself, shifting into the pilot's seat. She looked in a rear-view mirror which Jasper had added to the cockpit. Behind them, Monaco was a sea of golden light. Below them, the Ligurian Sea was dark except for the blinking beacons marking out shipping channels and the occasional brightly-lit human vessel. Rita knew all too well that the one they were looking for would not have lights.

Behind her, Jasper squeezed into a seat next to Sofia. It was a cramped fit with the both of them and the bizarre equipment Jasper had collected from the workshop.

"Wotcha, your ladyship," he grinned.

"I was 'oping you would explain all this to me," said Sofia.

"It's really quite simple, your Excellency," said Jasper. "You see, this plane used to be radio-controlled, but since I wanted to fly it myself I simply dismantled the radio controller and built everything into the plane itself. That meant I had the transmitter left over."

"Yes?"

"Well, from what I've been told, the boat we're chasing is also radio controlled, but they haven't been quite as clever as me. Even if they're standing on top of it, their remote controller has to send out a signal. If our transmitter is stronger than theirs, and if we get close enough and on the right frequency, we can override their signal! We might even be able to take over their boat, or maybe just stop it."

Sofia looked at the equipment. "Show me how to do it."

Jasper connected the oscilloscope to the transmitter. A flickering green line appeared on the tiny round screen.

"If I'm right- which I am- their signal will appear as a spike on that line! If you can get that spike into the centre of the display, you'll have their signal locked and after that it's just a matter of power!" Jasper grinned. "This is all tremendously exciting isn't it?"

"Riveting," said Le Frog sarcastically, who was reading his newspaper again in the seat behind them. The wind caught it and plastered it to his face. Jasper rolled his eyes and scrambled forward again, pausing under the jury-rigged biplane wing to make an adjustment to something. Rita was starting to get the hang of flying. It wasn't entirely unlike piloting the _Jammy Dodger_ although she was yet to work up the courage to try some of the more obscure controls.

"We need to lose some height!" shouted Jasper, over the engines. "The closer we get the better it'll be for the transmitter to jam their controls!"

"How do I do that?" shouted back Rita. Jasper reached past her and shoved hard on one of the levers. The Lancaster's nose dropped and they began plummeting towards the ocean, the wind making a strange screaming noise as it passed them, which was not unlike the one produced by Rita as she felt her head making an earnest effort to separate from her shoulders. Jasper seemed unbothered and began counting off the altitude until he seemed satisfied and pulled the lever back. They levelled off, so low that Rita could see the ripples on the water below.

"Did you know that was going to work?" she demanded.

"Well, I knew we'd lose the height!" Jasper laughed again. He was like a young boy with a new toy. After all these years, he was flying at last!

Rita shook her head and climbed back into her own seat gratefully. Behind her, Sofia was fiddling with the transmitter, trying to hunt out the kidnapper's frequency. A small peak appeared on the scope, and she smiled with satisfaction. They had to be close.

"Do we 'ave a plan yet?" Le Frog, who had walked down the side of the plane as only he could, poked his head into Rita's seat.

"Broadly," she said. "We find them, beat them senseless and rescue Roddy and Rhys."

"You call that a plan?" Le Frog was sceptical.

"You got a better one, greenskin?"

"Many, my impetuous ally-of-convenience, but none we can put into practice while aboard an airborne death trap."

"I resent that!" shouted Jasper, over his shoulders.

"I said _aboard_ one, not being flown by one!" replied Le Frog casually. "But never mind. I assume you 'ave something in mind to even the odds a little?"

Rita grinned fiercely and unwrapped a thin canvas bundle by her feet. Two sabres glinted dully. Le Frog looked at them doubtfully.

"When I said, do you 'ave something in mind, I really meant something that would work," he said. Rita glared.

"If you have a problem, Le Frog, it's a very short fall and a long swim back to Monaco."

Le Frog rolled his eyes. "All right, all right. I am fine with what you call your plan. It is simply a matter of finding them now."

* * *

Roddy and Rhys were bundled back onto the deck. It had changed. Rat Valone's crew had set up some kind of launcher, in which was propped a cardboard tube marked 'INCENDIARY'. A string was coiled near the base, entering the tube at a hole bearing the sober warning 'DO NOT PULL- FRICTION IGNITION'. Roddy eyed it curiously.

"A roman candle?" said Rhys. "I thought you wallahs were Genoese."

"Very amusing," said Valone, whose expression didn't change. "I thought it was worth demonstrating your predicament. That is a signal flare which will summon every loyal Genoese rat to my side…should you try any funny business on board."

"_Every_ loyal Genoese rat?" said Roddy. "Well, I think we can handle one more, can't we Rhys?"

"Absolutely, Rhys," said Rhys, laughing.

Valone looked at them. "So the charade continues. I should warn you, gentlemen, some of my counsellors-" he glanced meaningfully at Ricco, "-have been telling me to just kill one of you. A fifty-fifty chance, as they say, and if you can play the impersonations game then so can we. But I think you are both more valuable alive. I trust you not to prove me wrong."

"What is it you want?" said Rhys.

"You know what I want," said Valone.

"I mean, what do you want from him?" Rhys pointed to Roddy.

"Or him," said Roddy, playing his part. "Even I can't remember sometimes."

"I want you to keep the French from intervening in our little plan," said Valone simply, "And to do that you need only to be alive."

"You realise your little penny-banger back there will also signal your position to the entire Mediterranean," said Rhys. "Are you sure it's something you want laying around?"

"Who is out here looking for us? The RAF?" Valone laughed. "No. I merely wish to point out that you are fighting more than what you see on this boat. Take them back below."

* * *

One of the Lancaster's engines was making a new noise. Jasper glared at it in the hope that this would fix it, but the engine refused to get the message. Technically the plane could fly on two of its four engines, but it was a long way back to Monaco and Jasper wasn't confident about being able to land it on half power. He peered under the main wing to check the yellow rubber life raft was still in position- it was, cords flapping in the slipstream. He was pretty sure about doing a water landing, although that would certainly mean the loss of the aircraft in the process.

Rita sat behind him, gripping the handle of one of the sabres and trying to work out how you boarded a boat from a moving aircraft but her thoughts kept wandering back to Roddy. They had been interrupted at the party, and there were things she desperately wanted to say. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the crumpled note which Roddy had written to her in Paris before going off to risk his neck to save her. She couldn't let him down.

Sofia was bent over the oscilloscope, turning the transmitter's dial this way and that, trying to encourage the faint signal spike to grow. She was confident that Rhys was all right because Rhys always was. But there was a doubt forming in her mind. And what had been on his mind at the dinner? It was as if he was trying to build up the courage to ask her something.

Le Frog rested with his arms behind his head and his newspaper across his knees. He was doing this for France. For the Republic. Not for either of the two Englishmen they were speeding to rescue. Not for this memory of his ancestor or his family honour…no, what a thought. He sighed and closed his eyes.

* * *

Ricco kicked open the door again and stalked in. His patience was clearly wearing thin. He grabbed Roddy by the collar and marched him up on deck before Rhys could protest. Alone, Roddy faced Rat Valone.

"Welcome back, Commander," said Valone casually.

"Thank you," said Roddy, with mock politeness. Valone stood up and pointed ahead of the boat. The low clouds were lit from below by the glow of city lights.

"Genoa port, Commander. Our destination. And once we are there, we will know very quickly whether it is you or the other one whom we need. The one who is found to be surplus to requirements will wish he had admitted it out here."

Roddy shrugged. "So you keep reminding us," he said, trying to affect Rhys' imperturbable attitude and failing.

"Yes, I do. The two of you clearly have a very good plan. It has worked. It has kept you both alive this far. But now I think we are reaching the end of the road. I am interested in your uniform, Commander. In your many medallions. Particularly this one." He turned suddenly and tore one of Roddy's ribbons from his chest. Valone turned it over in his hands.

"The medal bears the image of King George the Fifth…and is dated to 1918. Tell me, Commander, why do you wear this in the twenty-first century? Unless you are a hundred years old, of course."

Roddy swallowed hard as he realised what had just happened. His cover had been blown. August's uniform dated from the First World War, Rhys' uniform was modern. And now the Mafia had finally worked it out. He looked around for a way out, and noticed the roman candle. It might just be close enough…

"Well, there's a very good explanation for that," he said boldly, and kicked Valone hard in the stomach. The Godfather doubled over, cursing in Genoese. Ricco reared up behind Roddy and got an elbow in the face. Desperation gave him speed and strength, and Roddy scrambled madly across the deck to the firework, where he pulled hard on the ignition cord. There was a crackle and the smell of gunpowder. Despite his new predicament, surrounded by armed and angry gangsters, Roddy grinned. There was an ear-splitting detonation, and the first firework rose into the night sky.

* * *

The explosion took everyone by surprise. One minute there was nothing, and then Jasper was flying the plane through the heart of a brilliant pink supernova.

"Where the blazes did that come from?" he screamed, fighting the controls. Rita looked over the side and saw a second flare shoot up and burst next to them.

"It must be them! Down there, to port!" She pointed excitedly. Jasper saw it too.

"I think I 'ave it!" Sofia was waving from her seat at the transmitter. "The spike is right in the middle of the display! I am on their wavelength!"

"All right! Hang on everyone! Tally ho, chaps! We're going in!" Jasper cackled, and brought the Lancaster around.

* * *

"You justa made a very bad mistake," said Ricco conversationally. He levelled a crossbow at Roddy, who was backing away towards the stern. Rhys was brought up from below, sandwiched between two gangsters.

"Hello, commander!" said Ricco. "We thoughta you might lika to see how your doppelganger dies!"

"How on earth did they work that out?" said Rhys, stunned.

"It was only a matter of…time." Roddy replied. Then he heard something above the boat's engines- above them, getting closer. Despite himself, he grinned.

Suddenly, the engines cut, spluttered, and went hard into reverse. Ricco was thrown off his feet. The crossbow bolt flashed past Roddy's face making a noise like an angry bee. Everyone looked up, trying to find an explanation as the engines roared briefly and then died for good. Carlo shook the boat's radio controller desperately but to no avail. In the silence, they heard the sounds of another set of engines approaching at high speed.

* * *

"Well done, Sofia!" shouted Rita. The ambassador was smiling triumphantly as she worked the transmitter. Another firework sizzled past them, glancing off the outer starboard engine and exploding in a green fireball far behind. The engine began trailing oily black smoke tinged with fire.

"I can't hold this for long!" shouted Jasper.

"Just get us over the boat!" called Rita. "Le Frog! Are you ready!"

"Ready as always," said Le Frog, clambering over the side. Rita stood up shakily in her seat and looked down.

"Wait for it…wait for it…" she said to herself.

She could see a confrontation on the boat's deck. Roddy looked to have been backed into a corner, and he was surrounded by gangsters. But the sudden stop had thrown them all into confusion. It was time to strike. Jasper, gritting his teeth, brought them down as low as he dared and throttled back as far as he could without risking a stall. They were right over the Mafia escape boat. It was now or never.

"Now!" Rita took a deep breath, and vaulted over the side.

* * *

"You thinka that will save you?" snarled Ricco. "Foolish imposter! You better starta praying!" He drew his knife. Roddy scrambled back as far as he could. The roman candle fired again, but the white rocket jammed at the muzzle, fizzing loudly and throwing a stark white glare across the scene.

"Only your guardian angel canna save you now!" Ricco brought the blade back.

Rita landed on him hard. Both rats went down, but Rita had Ricco to break her fall and she rolled expertly to avoid injury. She stood gracefully and looked around at the stunned gangsters.

"Well? Come on then!" she demanded. "Come and have a go if you think you're fast enough!"

Le Frog landed on one of the Mafia holding Rhys, flattening him. The other had a moment to regard the bizarre apparition before a series of kung-fu jabs lifted him up and threw him over the side.

"Rita!" Roddy's heart leapt. Guardian angel indeed! Rita smiled at him, a bright, feral smile. This was Rita at her best, when there was nothing to lose and everything to gain.

Rhys looked up as Jasper's plane roared overhead. "Good lord, the RAF's here!"

"Thought I'd drop in on you!" said Rita. She unwrapped her bundle, and tossed Roddy his sabre. He caught it by the blade, whimpered, and shifted his grip on it. Turning, Rita threw the other sword to Rhys, who plucked it out of the air with practised ease and twirled it in expert hands.

"Ah, that's more like it! Come on, you fellows, we'll settle this Nelson's way!" Rhys pounced on a group of knife-wielding gangsters in a flurry of strokes. Carlo ran forward, arms above his head in an effort to batter Rita to the ground with his defunct radio controller. She ducked, rolled and came up inside his arms where she delivered a Glasgow Kiss of a quality normally reserved for Celtic/Rangers matches. Carlo staggered backwards, dropping the controls, and Rita planted a kick in a place the Marquess of Queensberry never even considered a feasible target, leaving the hapless gangster in a ball on the deck. Singing _La Marseillaise_ at the top of his voice, Le Frog picked up a rat and used him to hit a lot of other rats, bowling them over the side like tenpins. Roddy ran across the decks in pursuit of the retreating figure of Rat Valone. A gangster barred his way and Roddy, taking a cue from Rita's school of swordsmanship, knocked him down with the hilt of the sabre. At the roof of the boat, Valone turned and confronted him.

"It's over, Godfather!" said Roddy.

"It is not over," said Valone grimly. "We have carried this grudge for more than seven centuries! You think we will not be back?"

"I know _you_ won't be!" said Roddy defiantly. He levelled the sabre at Valone's rosette. The boss grinned humourlessly, and reached into his coat pocket. His hand emerged carrying a tiny, rat-sized handgun. Roddy stared. Where the heck did he get that?

"I believe we are at the end of the road at last," said Valone, cocking it. "I do not know your real name and now I suppose I never will. Goodbye to you, sir!" He pointed the weapon.

* * *

Jasper brought the bomber back across the boat and prepared to open the throttle. Was it the lever on the left or the right? He could never remember. He yanked the right-hand lever hard and felt a lurch as the Lancaster's undercarriage came down. The sudden extra drag slowed the plane as if it had flown into wet cement. The engines raced and the damaged one finally died in a puff of flame and smoke. Jasper panicked and hit the other lever, pouring power into his three remaining engines. The side of the boat loomed ahead of him, and he pulled back hard on the controls, praying that he could gain enough height to clear it.

The Lancaster's starboard wing wheel hit Rat Valone just as he pulled the trigger. The Godfather was picked up by the rubber tyre and hurled into the sea as the Lancaster lumbered back into the sky.

Le Frog dusted his hands off in a satisfied fashion, and looked around at the sudden gunshot. Rhys flinched and turned as well. Rita watched in desperation, and a scream tore its way from her throat as Roddy staggered backwards, and fell to the deck.

She ran to him, kneeling by his side. Despite her best efforts, hot tears of fury welled up in her eyes. It wasn't fair! To have escaped, chased them, found them, fought them…only to lose Roddy at the last possible second?

"You can't be gone!" she said to him. "You can't be! I absolutely forbid you to die on me now!"

Rhys knelt silently beside her and put his sabre aside. Rita buried her head in Roddy's chest as Rhys touched his face gently.

"Are you all right, old man? Roddy?" For the first time, genuine worry crept into the Commander's voice.

Rita looked up at Roddy's still face.

"He had better be! He had better be all right! I didn't go through everything to get here to lose him like this!" She pushed Rhys aside. "You'll answer me Roddy! I'm sorry for what I've said, I'm sorry for everything. I never, ever meant any of it to hurt you." She took a deep breath and said what she hadn't been able to say at the party.

"I love you, Roddy St. James." She bowed her head, sobbing quietly. "And I can't lose you like this."

A single tear fell from her eyes and splashed on Roddy's forehead. He twitched, and opened his eyes. He raised a hand and lifted Rita's face, smiling as he did so.

"There, that wasn't so hard was it? Although I'd rather not have to die to hear it next time!"

Rita laughed, and punched him in the shoulder. She laughed again as Roddy sat up, and embraced him tightly. There'd be hell to pay for that little trick, and they both knew it. But right now, that didn't matter.


	6. Roddy's Guardian Angel

"That was quite an adventure, really," said Rhys as they walked back into Jasper's workshop. It had taken them a while to get back even with the Genoese boat and mid-morning sun was streaming through the vents. The Lancaster had got back before them, and Jasper was fussing over the damaged engine with the assistance of the Bruces. Sofia looked up at the sound of Rhys' voice. She turned, a smile of purest joy spreading over her face.

"Rhys! You are alive…I am so glad! I thought I would never see you again!"

She threw her arms around Rhys, who returned the gesture.

"I hear I have you to thank for it as well, your Excellency! Rita told me about the transmitter. Very clever!" Rhys hugged her close.

Sofia waved it off modestly. "That was Jasper's idea, not mine. And Rita there was the real 'ero. It was all 'er idea to go after you!" She smiled softly. "And I think you don't 'ave to call me 'Your Excellency' any more."

Roddy and Rita went over to join Jasper as Le Frog came up the ladder into the workshop.

"So you're back?" said Jasper. "That's good. I wondered how long it would take you."

"Well, we had a good boat," said Roddy. "And I see you finally got this working?" He nodded to the plane.

"I couldn't have done it without help," said Jasper, shaking his head. "These two make fine mechanics."

The Bruces gave him a thumbs-up sign.

"And of course, it wouldn't have happened without Rita here. You should have seen her, Roddy! She was ready to move hell and high water to get after you!"

"Really?" Roddy looked at her with an amused grin. Rita rolled her eyes and looked away blushing.

"Oh, yes! She just couldn't let you go. Desperate to get you back, she was, desperate. But you're both all right?"

Roddy nodded. "Bit of a close scare on the boat, but I think you got him before he could get me!" He fingered the left shoulder of his Navy jacket. Rat Valone's bullet had passed close enough to sever the stitching. Jasper nodded with satisfaction.

"Now that's what I call a job well done! Hahaha, I haven't had so much fun in years. Nothing that exciting in the drains, eh Rita? Your old dad would have a thing or two to say!" He waved a spanner happily.

"He certainly would," said Rita quietly. She took Roddy's hand and held it tightly. Le Frog coughed discreetly.

"Ahem! I am sorry for the interruption…but if there is nothing further 'ere…I am after all on 'oliday."

Sofia stepped away from Rhys and took Le Frog's hand.

"I am grateful for your assistance, citizen. France thanks you for your service."

The ever-patriotic Le Frog swelled with pride.

"Whenever the Republic calls, madam!" He kissed her hand for long enough for a scowl to pass over Rhys' face, then come back and camp there. Sofia laughed and took her hand away. Le Frog bowed graciously to her and waved a hand to the others.

"_Bon chance, _my inadvertent interceptors! Do not take this personally, but I 'ope we never meet again!"

"Don't take this personally, but so do we!" said Rita. Le Frog glared at her, and then scrambled down the ladder and disappeared.

"Oh, Rita?" Jasper came over to them, wiping his hand on a rag. "It occurred to me that maybe I should invest in some parachutes for next time, you know…and then I remembered that the best parachutes are made out of silk. I hope you don't mind, but when I was inspecting the _Dodger_ I came across this." He gestured to the workbench, where the white wedding dress lay. Rita laughed.

"Sorry, uncle, but I think my mother would like that back! Don't worry, we'll find you something else to use."

Jasper raised an eyebrow.

"Ah, so you still might need it?"

Rita looked at Roddy, smiled and shook her head.

"Not in the immediate future, Jasper. But you never know." She squeezed Roddy's hand. He smiled and squeezed hers back. Jasper shrugged.

"Ah, well. You don't ask and you never know, as they say. It'll be a day or two before the _Dodger_ is ready to be taken out. I'm sure you can find some way to kill time before then? I could really do with a hand on this." He banged the spanner on the Lancaster's engine casing.

Rita laughed. "All right, you old goat, show me what has to be done." She moved to help him. Roddy watched her for a moment, and then went back on board the _Jammy Dodger II_ to change his clothes. He hung August's uniform on its hook in the cupboard and then hung the sabre next to it. He paused for a moment, looking at the golden hilt and remembering the boat.

"My guardian angel indeed."

He smiled and shut the door.

* * *

The Bruces were singing again.

"_Roddy and Rita went out on the sea,_

_Yo, ho and blow the rats down!_

_A finer young couple you never will see,_

_Yo, ho and blow the rats down!"_

"Keep it down, chaps, you're scaring the natives," said Roddy mildly. The four of them were sitting at the end of Jasper's runway watching the sun set over the Mediterranean. Bruce One grinned.

"Sorry, mate, just seemed appropriate. I don't like to say I told you so, Roddy, but didn't I say something in Calais about this?"

"About what?" said Roddy. Bruce jerked his thumb at Rita, who was sitting by Roddy's side.

"Exhibit A there, mate," said Bruce.

"Exhibit nothing!" objected Rita. "Have you three been plotting behind my back?"

"No, we left that to your parents," said Roddy. "Remember?"

Rita laughed.

"So where do you go from here?" she asked the Bruces. They shrugged.

"Anywhere. That's the life, isn't it? Go where the current takes you. Find a job, see what happens." Bruce rubbed his nose. "Not that it's been a real barrel of laughs up until now, but you never know."

"You never do," agreed Roddy.

"And you two?" asked Number Two Bruce. "Going to keep travelling?"

Roddy and Rita looked at each other.

"Maybe not…" Rita smiled. "It can take it out of you, this holiday business. But it's a long trip back to London. Still plenty to see."

Rhys and Sofia joined them, walking arm-in-arm along the clifftops.

"What ho, you fellows!" said Rhys. They sat down with them.

"Rita," said Sofia. "Maybe you can 'elp me. I 'ave felt that there is something Rhys wishes to say to me but is refusing to." She poked him in the ribs.

"I know the feeling," said Roddy. Rhys laughed.

"There's nothing! I assure you!"

"You think I can't read you like the book you are?" Sofia flicked his eyebrow playfully.

"And what kind of book is that, your Excellency?" said Rhys, grinning.

"You know the sort. Lots of pictures, big letters and cardboard pages." Sofia patted him fondly. Rhys glanced over to Roddy and reached a decision.

"Oh, what the heck." He stood and fumbled in his pockets, eventually producing a small box, which he opened as he knelt in front of Sofia. Something silver glittered in the last rays of the sun.

"Sofia, I know this is deeply improper and terribly unprofessional…but the thing is that…well, I feel that…I want you…I would like you to…accept this proposal to…to join me...which is to say..."

"Get hitched?" suggested Bruce One.

Sofia stared, and smiled.

"What makes you think you 'ad to ask, Commander?" She picked up the ring and slid it on. Roddy and Rita applauded while the Bruces cheered.

"Come on!" Jasper was standing at the hangar doors. "I need to shut the workshop before the sun goes down!"

One by one, they stood up and began walking back down the runway. Roddy and Rita were the last to go. They looked out across the Mediterranean, as it glowed like molten gold in the sunset.

"I'm glad you came after us," said Roddy. "I mean…for more than the obvious reason."

"I wouldn't have left you," Rita rested her head on his shoulder. "You know that. And I meant what I said on the boat. I know I can say things that seem unkind. I know I can be harsh. But that's not how I feel about you."

Roddy nodded. "Sometimes, Rita, I think that deep inside you, there's a really nice person struggling to get out."

She elbowed him.

"Seriously," said Roddy. "I know. And I hope you know what I feel as well."

Rita produced the Paris note and read it, smiling.

"Yes, you made that very clear."

"You still have that?" Roddy was surprised.

"Oh, I'll be keeping this for quite some time," promised Rita.

"Good." Roddy smiled at her. "On the boat, Ricco said that only my guardian angel could save me. I guess he was right."

"For a guardian angel, I seem to get into a lot of trouble myself!" Rita laughed.

"Well, I didn't say you were very good at it," said Roddy.

She smiled at him and held him closer. Their lips met and for a moment even the sound of the waves far below seemed to cease.

"Come on!" Jasper was calling them again with a note of impatience. They broke the kiss and smiled at each other. They walked back down the runway as the stars came out overhead.

* * *

The Nice East Central Sewer was just as it had been three days before, except now they were sailing west. The repaired _Jammy Dodger II_ sounded better than it had done for weeks- Jasper had clearly done more than panel-beat the hull back into shape. It had been an emotional parting- Rhys and Sofia had gone back to their embassies, each one promising to resign in order to allow their engagement to go ahead. The Bruces had talked about staying on with Jasper and helping him set up his bakery business again. It was, they said, the least they could do since they'd been the ones who had his last boat sunk underneath them. Jasper, for his part, was acting twenty years younger even if he didn't look it, and was talking about modifying the Lancaster- redubbed the _Flying Malone_- to carry more passengers, perhaps as far as Corsica or Sardinia.

"We're really going home now?" said Roddy. Rita nodded.

"You've got the maps there. Nice to Marseille, Marseille to Lyon, Lyon to Paris, Paris to Calais, Calais to Portsmouth, Portsmouth to London. All plotted out there."

"Yes, but we're actually going to do that? There are no other obscure family friends to drop in on?" He grinned.

"Only if there aren't any more ancestor war heroes of yours around here," said Rita.

"I think I can promise that," said Roddy.

"Good. No problems then. A simple run back home. It'll be easy."

"Oh! Rita! Did you have to say that?"

"Say what?"

"That it'll be easy? Don't you remember what happened the last time you said that?"

"Are you asking for another swordfighting lesson, Roddy?"

"I threw the hatpin overboard."

"Like I need that to beat you!"

"Look, I'm just saying…we don't have a good record with statements like 'it will be all right', that's all."

"As long as we're together, Roddy, as far as I'm concerned, it _is_ all right."

She kissed him lightly and went below.

"You really threw my hatpin overboard?" she said over her shoulder.

Roddy nodded. "I was looking for that red dress you wore at the party and stumbled across it."

"Why were you looking for that? Roddy, please tell me you weren't going to try it on." She raised an eyebrow.

"No, no, nothing like that. It's just that…you really did look beautiful that night. Your family would have been proud."

Rita smiled. "Well, it's still there, but falling off a cliff didn't do it a whole lot of good. Keep an eye on the boat, Roddy. I'll be back in a minute."

Roddy took the controls and watched the path ahead of them. If they didn't stop for sightseeing, they could be back in London inside a fortnight. It hadn't been the holiday Rita's parents had probably had in mind for them, but he knew that neither of them would have missed it for the world. He smiled at the thought of Rita still carrying his note and looked down at the maps. There was a new piece of paper in the stack. He pulled it out and read it. It was Rita's handwriting, there was no question. A broader smile spread over his face as he reached the end of it, his heart singing. He folded the note and put it in his pocket. Now he understood why she kept his note!

Rita watched Roddy put the paper in his pocket and allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction. No more doubts. She went back up to the cockpit to join him. The _Jammy Dodger II_ sailed on into Nice, and began looking for the trunk tunnel to Marseilles.

Then there was only its wake.

* * *

Far above Monaco, the _Flying Malone_ levelled out.

"How's that sound to you?" Jasper shouted.

Bruce Number One grinned and gave the thumbs-up from his position on the wing between the two port engines.

"She's going bonzer, mate! No worries!"

"How about you?" Jasper turned to the starboard wing. Bruce Number Two grinned and gave the thumbs-up.

"No worries, mate! She's going bonzer!"

"Right!" shouted Jasper. "Let's see if that supercharger works, then!" He pushed the button. The engines thundered, and the _Flying Malone_ disappeared, leaving nothing but a trail of blue smoke describing a graceful arc above the city, and the triumphant laughter of its three crew.

* * *

_The End_


End file.
